


Worth Waiting For

by Syaunei



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Banter, Bottom Elim Garak, Cardassian Doctor Fetish, Cardassian Idioms, Cultural Differences, Garak is in his twenties, Getting Together, M/M, Obsidian Order, POV Elim Garak, POV Julian Bashir, POV Kira Nerys, Post-A Stitch in Time - Andrew Robinson, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Smut, Spoon Sex, Spy Stuff, Time Travel, Xenophilia, Young Elim Garak, Young Garak is very cheeky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:13:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 48,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28899465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syaunei/pseuds/Syaunei
Summary: The newly appointed Kai gives Julian an offer to interact with the Orb of Time.Julian is flung far into the past with no idea how long he'll be stuck there. To make matters worse, he crosses paths with a very familiar agent of the Obsidian Order who is clearly up to no good... Why can't anything about him and Garak ever be simple?(aka the first time my smutty fic has an actual plot - features Garak doing spy things on a mission for the Obsidian Order and Julian trying his best not to draw Garak's interest)
Relationships: Julian Bashir & Elim Garak, Julian Bashir & Kira Nerys, Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 175
Kudos: 131
Collections: Star Trek: Just in Time Fest





	1. The Orb of Time

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there, survivors of my previous (traumatically tragic) fest fic! I promised something lighter and here it is!
> 
> I really challenged myself for this fic, and spent almost two months on it. It was extremely hard to write, and it resisted me every step of the way, but I hope the end result is at least somewhat interesting! If you're here for the smut and banter, you probably won't be disappointed (as, like, 7 out of 23 chapters are smutty). 
> 
> Many thanks to BlessedAreTheFandoms, AlexisaFanST and Casey for reading along and helping me wrangle this beast into submission! Also - KJGooding, thanks for cheering me on, I needed that!

Kira's tired eyes peered at him.

“Wouldn’t you rather be escorting Kai Nilan to the temple, Nerys? I could take over the administrative duties for you,” Julian offered. He knew that Kira was swamped with work and would rather be greeting the recently appointed Kai than pushing papers.

“You know as well as I do that I can’t. This is the only time the Admiral was available to schedule a meeting and I have already postponed once. I don’t want the brass breathing down my neck. Besides, I will meet with the Kai for the evening service.”

Julian nodded affirmatively. 

“It’s not often that the Orb of Time is brought out of the Temple of Iponu.” He commented, knowing what a momentous occasion it was to have it on the Station, even if for a short while.

Nerys huffed.

“As someone who’s been whisked away by it before, I’m surprised you’re not wary of it.” Nerys said, implying that her own brush with the artifact had been less than pleasant. 

Julian remembered his brush with the past fondly. 

With a nod, left the Ops, heading to the docking pylons.

The station had changed in recent years. He took in the new paneling and light fixtures. Bajorans had taken steps to remodel it into something less austere and unwelcoming. The Cardassian skeleton had been covered by Bajoran trappings. Small Bajoran children who ran along the corridors playing vedeks and pah-wraiths no longer saw the spirit of oppression that had been hanging over the station like a pall for decades. The new generations would reclaim the station completely. There were rumors of making Deep Space 9 a site of worship, and the many pilgrims arriving on the station in the past few years lent credence to the theory. They were even getting tourists now. It was all more than a little surreal.

Julian halted in front of the right airlock and caught his reflection in the small viewport. 

First grey hairs were slowly encroaching on his temples and dotting his beard. Keiko claimed it made him look distinguished but all Julian could think about was where the time had gone. Little Molly was all grown-up now, and Yoshi was proving to be a real handful of a boy. Miles was complaining about having to deal with bratty students - both at home and at work - and bemoaned the good old days when the worst thing he had to deal with was malfunctioning Cardassian machinery. Julian knew Miles didn’t really mean it. 

Ezri seemed happy in her captain’s chair, and sent him holo-images of fascinating things she’d run across in her travels. They’d gotten to the point where they were comfortable with one another, perhaps for the first time – before  _ or _ after the break-up. 

Julian was content.

Yet, something was missing. Sure, his job was plenty challenging to keep his mind and hands engaged, but he found himself yearning for companionship. Friendships he had, stable and happy ones, but most of them were long-distance and it just wasn’t the same. 

He was fast approaching the end of his youth and wondered whether he should be looking for someone to spend his best years with. 

If there even was such a thing.

If his best years hadn’t already been spent-

The airlock hissed open and he straightened, bringing forth an easy and amiable smile as Kai Nilan and her small retinue came into view.

The latest Kai was a frail-looking old woman in her early nineties, her snow-white hair cropped short. In just about every aspect, she was the polar opposite of Kai Winn. Julian suspected that her clothing was the simplest she could get away with, and her earring was just a thin, diamond-shaped sliver of metal. Where Kai Winn had dripped condescension and twisted ambition, Kai Nilan radiated an understated kind of wisdom. Her wrinkled, honey-brown eyes were kind. 

“Welcome, Kai Nilan. I trust you had a pleasant trip?”

She chuckled.

“As pleasant as a trip in a cramped ship can be, I suppose. You will have to forgive me, I am used to walking everywhere under my own power.”

Julian gave her a warm smile and motioned towards the turbo-lift.

“Shall we?” he said kindly and led the way at a sedate pace. 

Two of Kai’s attendants were carrying a case between them and as they emerged on the main level, Julian noticed that all of the Bajorans they passed reacted with excitement and unsuppressed joy. Some of them approached the Kai and were all regarded warmly by the woman and received blessings. Julian thought she looked like a grandmother greeting her many children and grandchildren. She was unassuming, yet radiated calm. 

Once the crowd finally dispersed, she nodded to her attendants and they walked into the Temple without her. 

“I was told there is a specific spot on the station to go if one wishes to see the entrance to the Celestial Temple. Could you take me there?”

Julian blinked and said: “Of course, it’s not far; it’s just…I’m not certain there will be a ship coming out, so there might not be anything to see.”

The fine lines around her mouth lengthened as she smiled.

“Well, that is up to the Prophets now, isn’t it?” 

Julian said nothing and opted to escort her to the upper level of the Promenade. 

It seemed Kai Nilan was not one for idle chatter. She spoke when spoken to or said her piece when she deemed it necessary. Other than that, she seemed to prefer comfortable silence. 

Julian stopped at Jake’s favorite spot and looked out the window. The Kai came to a halt next to him and hummed quietly, observing the mostly dark patch of sky with a patient smile. 

“Do you believe in fate, Doctor Bashir?” She asked suddenly, unbalancing him.

“No,” he said truthfully, “I don’t.”

After a minute of silence she remarked: “You are not wrong.”

He gave her a strange look. It only made her chuckle.

“Did you expect me to chide you for your opinion?”

Julian shook his head. “I didn’t expect you to  _ share _ my opinion.”

Offering him a wry look, the old woman returned her gaze towards where the wormhole rested, currently invisible.

“I’m not certain I  _ do _ share your opinion, Doctor Bashir. Our opinions, such as they are, are subject to change, after all. Who can tell for certain?”

On that, at least, they did agree. Certainty was for entities like Q, not beings of flesh and blood influenced by narrow bands of sensory perception. 

“I believe in science.” Julian said. “I believe in those around me, doing their best.”

“You have faith in people,” the Kai smiled knowingly. “That is a rare and precious quality.”

He didn’t know about that, but had to admit he didn’t know how to be any other way. Garak’s attempts to turn him into a raging cynic had failed. 

“My people have lost that.” Kai Nilan said soberly. “After so much suffering, it’s easy to see enemies everywhere. The young forget there was a time before the Occupation.”

Julian startled. That had been such a long time ago… The Kai had been alive to see it.

“They also forget that not everything was perfect  _ before _ the Occupation. It’s much easier to blame the Cardassians for everything.”

They were rather convenient villains, Julian supposed. 

“We have become too closed, nursing old wounds. That cannot be healthy, can it, Doctor Bashir?”

“No.” He conceded easily.

“Have you ever heard of the Oralian Way?” 

The question froze him.

“Uh, yes, actually. A good friend mentioned it to me once, years ago.”

Her gaze was fixed onto the spot where the wormhole lay. 

“I knew a follower of the Oralian Way when I was young… He was fascinated by the similarities between our faiths. When I remarked that Oralius might have been one of the Prophets, he laughed and said no Cardassian would accept that theory, even if it were true.”

Julian looked at the old woman in assessment. To admit one thought of a Cardassian fondly… It was an audacious statement.

“Yes, I loved him, Doctor Bashir. He refused his notice for military conscription and was executed. His beliefs mattered more to him than his life.”

Julian had never heard of such a thing. Then again, he supposed he wouldn’t. The Cardassians would never publicly advertise having disloyal citizens, and to the majority of the Bajorans, a dead Cardassian was hardly a reason to mourn. 

“I never hid my affection for him. I suppose that’s what made me the least eligible person for Kai. They needed someone strong and uncompromising.” She snorted. “They wanted a leader, but that is not what they needed.”

Winn had only added fuel to the fire instead of dousing the flames. 

Kai Nilan turned to face him, face no longer kindly.

“My people have rebuilt.” With a sigh, she clasped her arms behind her back. “Now they have to heal.”

Julian allowed the silence to stretch and gazed out the window. Before his eyes, colors blossomed into being against the dark backdrop of space in a magnificent swirl.

He’d expected a comment of some sort, but the Kai said nothing. 

Once a tiny speck emerged and the wormhole closed again, her satisfied voice reached him: “It seems we were both blessed by the Prophets tonight.”

Julian supposed it could feel like a blessing if one hadn’t seen it almost daily for over a decade. Even the most incredible things lost their luster after a while.

“Oralius spoke of tendrils of light between people. It would be easier if we could all see them.” She said wryly. “Come, Doctor Bashir, escort me to the Temple before my poor assistants lose what’s left of their wits.”

Julian huffed and offered her his arm. She appeared frail, but her steps were sure and her back reasonably straight for a woman of her years. Her almost unnatural thinness was probably a sign of malnutrition for most of her life. Her best years were spent just trying to survive…

Then again, who chose which years were their best? 

Once they got to the Temple, she strode inside, still on his arm, effectively dragging him in. One of her assistants bustled towards them, gave Julian a dirty look and bowed to the Kai.

“The orb has been placed, your Eminence.”

The Kai gave the man a pitying look and sighed. 

“Thank you. You may go prepare for the service.”

The man looked startled for a second and then made himself scarce.

“All this ceremony. I abhor it.”

Julian believed it. 

“Have you ever had an Orb experience, Doctor Bashir?”

“Once. The  _ Defiant  _ was flung back in time. It was a mess.”

“Ah. I have heard about that. Something about a Klingon plot?” When she saw his startled face, she chuckled. “The Emissary kept us apprised. As Kai, I have access to such things.”

That made sense, he supposed; though it made him wonder how much Sisko had revealed to them. When one's loyalties lay in two places...there would be times when they would be in conflict.

“Though, that was not what interested me.” She said calmly, her shrewd gaze fixed upon him. “I was curious whether you have ever had a chance to experience it on your own.”

Julian halted, feeling uneasy. “Uh, no. I haven’t.”

“Would you like to?”

He stopped abruptly.

“I-Doesn’t the Vedek Assembly decide such things?”

“True,” The Kai admitted, “though it is somewhat pointless of them. The Orb decides what a person will see - if anything.”

Julian narrowed his eyes. “If so, then you offering this to me makes little sense.”

She smiled at him in a way he could only describe as mysterious.

“I do not control what you may see…but I can give you the chance to look.”

“But…why?” He asked, honestly mystified.

She walked up to the altar and placed her hand on the intricate box. He followed and waited for the answer.

“Because I am not certain it is up to us to control who is allowed access and who isn’t.”

“It’s the Orb of Time, though!” Julian exclaimed. “Meddling with time is extremely dangerous and messy.”

“To us, perhaps…” She said serenely. “But this is guidance from the Prophets themselves. They see time differently. They see all of it. And to claim that only Bajorans are instrumental in keeping the universe running as it should…is the height of arrogance.”

Julian was shocked.

“You would let just…anyone handle it?”

She looked him straight in the eye, all hesitation gone. “I am not the arbiter, the Orb is.”

“Are you saying that…in unworthy hands or whatever that means, the Orb would remain completely inert?”

“Precisely.”

“So… Only those who were meant to receive a… vision, do?”

“Yes.”

Julian felt out-maneuvered.

“Is this why you believe in fate?” He asked.

“It doesn’t matter what I believe, Doctor Bashir. It doesn’t even matter what you believe. All that matters is whether you will take a chance to learn something new?”

“Provided I even see anything.” He said cautiously.

She grinned. “You can still learn something even if nothing happens.”

“And what would that be?” He had to restrain himself not to roll his eyes. 

“That you are precisely where you’re supposed to be.”

He halted at that, wondering.

Was he?

A gentle creak made him pay attention as a bright, scintillating light spilled across the room. Kai Nilan patted his arm gently and said: “Take your time.”

Julian watched her walk away, slightly stooped, her soft footfalls barely audible in the empty chamber.

He turned his gaze back towards the light, cautious not to approach it any further. What was he even supposed to see? It’s not like there was anything unresolved in his past; some cosmic injustice he was meant to correct by witnessing it, right?

And how far or close was he supposed to be anyways, to get it to work?

Before he had the time to wonder anything else, the Orb flashed blinding white and he raised his arms to shield his eyes against the glare. 


	2. Darein

When he came to, blinking the insistent phosphenes out of his eyes, Julian realized he was sitting on the ground. It was warm and vaguely sticky, evidenced by his attempt at getting up meeting resistance. 

“Take it slow, there. You were out of it for a while.”

Julian blinked in confusion and looked at the unfamiliar Bajoran man. He took stock of his surroundings and realized quite quickly that he was not on DS9 anymore. The configuration of the corridors was unfamiliar, even if the passers-by mostly belonged to races he could identify. A few Ferengi were peering at him, whispering amongst themselves. 

“I’m sorry,” He found himself asking, trying to dispel the mental fog cluttering his brain, “but, where am I?”

The Bajoran man offered him a wan smile.

“You’re on Zek 15, a minor trading outpost en route to Ferenginar. I can’t blame you for not knowing where you are, it’s just as unremarkable as all the others.”

Julian snapped his gaping mouth shut.

“I’m in…Ferengi Alliance space?” He asked incredulously.

“Yes.” The Bajoran man confirmed. “Can you stand?”

Julian nodded and allowed the man to pull him to his feet. Now that he had established where he was, he took a better look at the man helping him. No matter how hard he tried to place him, he was drawing a blank. The man was in his fifties; his thick brown hair fell to his shoulders, curling across the gray overalls and a brick-orange coarse vest covering it. His earring jangled as he hauled Julian to his feet.

“Thank you.” Julian said politely as he pat his uniform clean. He noticed his badge was missing. In a frenzy, he reached for his other identifying marks, like his pips, and found them missing.

“Oh, you must be looking for these,” The Bajoran remarked and reached into his pockets, offering the scraps of metal on his palm. “This lot was trying to rob you while you were out of it, I had to shoo them away.”

“I-“ Julian was speechless for a moment and then hastily accepted his things, stuffing them into his pocket and safely out of sight. “Thank you. Losing these would have been a big problem.”

The man gave him a sympathetic smile.

“I am no stranger to having nothing to my name. I know how I felt when a Ferengi offered for my earring, once.”

Julian knew enough about Bajoran customs to know they would rather starve than give such an important item away.

“Thank you…uh, I haven’t even asked for your name?” Julian said hesitantly, cursing himself for knowing he would now be forced to produce a name himself.

“You may call me Darein.”

Julian sighed. He hated subterfuge, and he hated lying to someone who had shown him kindness even more.

“Pleased to meet you, Darein. I’m…Subatoi.” This was truthful enough. Likely too truthful. He valiantly ignored the irony of it all. 

“I’m guessing you’ve no place to stay?” The man stated plainly and Julian slumped.

“That was probably painfully obvious, wasn’t it?” Julian said self-deprecatingly and Darein gave him a sympathetic look.

“Do you have any marketable skills?” Darein asked, only to explain after Julian directed a puzzled look his way, “It’s not hard to find work here, if you have steady hands, or if you don’t mind tedium. They are always looking for engineers, mechanics, and the like.”

Julian had to stop and think. He was stranded somewhere in Ferengi space without a clue how long he would be stuck here. He couldn’t stick out like a sore thumb. Darein was right, blending in was of the utmost importance. He would have to ditch his uniform as soon as possible. As for his skills…there was only ever one thing he’d been good at, and it wasn’t tennis. 

_Marketable, Julian_ ; he thought wryly.

“I don’t suppose anyone needs medical assistance around here?” He asked hopefully, feeling like a right fool.

“Are you a medic? A nurse? Hah, this lot would settle for a veterinarian!”

“I know my way around an infirmary, yes.”

“Well, you’re in luck, then. Our old doctor won the station lottery and decided to retire, what…two weeks ago? I know the Station Master asked for a replacement, but as you might imagine, nobody is particularly inclined to take a post here. As long as you feel confident patching up space-sick folk and the occasional broken nose from a bar fight, you should be fine.”

Just like that, half an hour later, Julian found himself talking to the Station Master, a sleazy Ferengi who gladly gave him the job and asked for 50% of his commission. Julian managed to haggle it down to 30% and didn’t care about how poor that would leave him, since he knew he’d be transported back to his own time eventually. 

Sitting in the former doctor’s quarters, adjacent to the infirmary, Julian accessed the station’s mainframe to learn what he hadn’t dared ask since he’d got here. 

_When am I?_

When he’d calculated the stardate, he choked. 

23249.3.

He stared at the numbers, trying to grapple with the reality of living in a Universe where little Jules Bashir was still alive and un-augmented. Somewhere, on the other side of the Quadrant, on Earth, his real self was still struggling with trying to please his reprehensible father, and crying into Kukalaka’s soft fur. Surely…no. If that was his purpose, he would have materialized there, not in the middle of Ferengi Space. 

There was clearly something here he was meant to see, but he couldn’t, for the life of him, figure out what that could be. 

All he could do…was wait.


	3. Garak

Garak winced, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

“Senal, quit your fussing; I am fine!”

The senior engineer snorted, ignoring his bravado, and pushed the spot between his shoulder blades to propel him forward. The old woman was surprisingly strong, probably from hauling unwieldy engine parts for the last several decades. 

“State save me from whelps and their bluster!” She muttered under her breath and Garak was amused despite himself. The old crake had a tongue sharper than his Order-issued blade. 

It was his fault; well, partly, at least. The two Nausicaans at the bar had been taunting Garak’s freighter’s crew for the better part of the evening, and when his captain’s right-hand man had been sufficiently riled up, Garak had no choice but to join the fray. It wouldn’t do to get his mark killed in a stupid bar brawl before getting the information he’d been ordered to procure. And while the supposed traitor was mercifully unscathed, Garak had gotten an ill-timed knee to his midsection for his troubles. Nausicaans were, by and large, brutes a few screws loose of a self-sealing stem bolt, but their strength was no joke. 

Calyx would have laughed at his lack of attention, but Garak felt quite accomplished nonetheless. After all, he couldn’t give himself away by showing exactly what he was capable of, not while pretending to be a mere third-rate mechanic. So, he allowed the mothering of his temporary boss, and let himself be hauled to the Infirmary. 

This was their first day on this Ferengi-infested vole-hole of a station, and he cringed at how pushy all of them seemed to be. It’s like everyone wanted to sell you something – usually broken, unneeded, or fenced. And State forbid you actually needed something specific – the amount of bribery (or threats) needed to get anything done was _staggering_ . Garak was definitely _not_ looking forward to seeing what passed for a doctor on this trash heap. 

“C’mon, whelp. Old Rog will patch you up.”

Garak snorted, not bothering to hide his skepticism. “You’d trust a non-Cardassian to know our ass from our liver?”

“Very funny, boy. That shriveled Ferengi has patched up the idiots on our crew so many times through the years that we have a fucking discount by now. Don’t expect brain surgery, though.” Senal chuckled and gave him another shove. 

With a scoff, Garak almost tumbled face-first into a freshly-painted door. By his side, Senal pressed the chime and the doors creaked open. He did roll his eyes that time. 

They walked into an empty room, a few derelict beds pushed along the left wall, an empty desk standing between them and a row of medical equipment that looked at least two decades out of date. 

“Senal, if I get blood poisoning here, I will sue your sun-bleached hide.”

She burst out laughing and squeezed his arm so tightly he lost feeling in his fingers.

“Sleeping on the job again, Rog?” She called out, her gravelly voice echoing across the room. Garak snickered and took in the ramshackle infirmary, wondering why he’d expected the place to look even remotely sterile. Ferengi were not known for their medical expertise and he was seriously considering ditching his boss and fending for himself. Certainly any fee they paid here couldn’t be worth the shoddy treatment he would receive. 

“He’s probably drunk like a vole in a fermented heap of ssi’kla fruit,” Senal remarked, her pitch-black eyes narrowing in scrutiny. “Wouldn’t be the first time.” Then she turned to Garak and grinned. “Let me show you a trick how to deal with Ferengi-“ and Garak wondered what she was on about when she bellowed out, loud as a malfunctioning fire alert: “GET YOUR WRINKLED CARCASS OUT, ROG! YOU GOT CUSTOMERS!”

Garak winced at the volume and knew this must have been loud enough to burst any Ferengi’s eardrums. He wouldn’t be surprised if half the Ferengi on the station heard Senal’s screaming. 

“Give me a moment!” A pleasant voice reached them from the small side-doors. Garak saw Senal frowning and had only the briefest thought about the owner of said voice not sounding nowhere near whiny enough to be Ferengi when the wall slid open, revealing someone Senal clearly hadn’t been expecting.

“I was inventorying the supplies, you wouldn’t believe what a mislabeled mess the previous doctor left behind, I’ve been at it the entire morning-“

Garak’s lips twitched. Instead of a decrepit, drunk Ferengi, he was greeted by a lithe human in his…forties, perhaps? His facial hair was mostly dark, streaked faintly with white, and he had a vibrant pair of mossy-green eyes. His bearing was proud, his skin a warm and pleasing hue, and he had the longest pair of legs Garak had ever seen on a male. Everything about the man positively screamed competence, and his mere presence radiated reassurance. Garak wondered how anyone could convey such a thing just by standing and uttering a single sentence.

“Where’s old Rog?” Senal inquired, clearly unimpressed, making Garak wonder whether he’d misread the human. 

“Oh, he’s earned himself a retirement,” The human said brightly, and Garak knew that such a sentence from a Cardassian person could only mean someone’s been dispatched and promptly replaced, but he couldn’t sense any such thing from the man. “I am just holding the fort until they find someone better.”

“Have you ever treated a Cardassian?” Senal asked, clearly doubting the human’s credibility and Garak couldn’t fault her. The doctor’s eyes glinted and a curious, almost secretive smile pulled at his lips.

“Once or twice…” The man said, content to leave it at that. Garak yearned for a chance to strap the man to a chair and drag the truth out of him. So far, he hadn’t been allowed to interrogate anyone, only watch. “Couldn’t hurt to at least take a look?” The man said warmly and Garak was forced to suppress a shudder. There was something about the voice that pulled him in. To be honest (at least with himself), the looks didn’t hurt either. 

“We had a discount.” Senal stated firmly, almost like she was daring the new doctor to argue.

“Of course,” the man said easily, “I’m not about to overcharge you.” The soft snicker revealed a row of non-threatening teeth. “I’m sure I’ll get an earful about not having lobes for business later.”

Garak suppressed a smile threatening to emerge. 

“So, what seems to be the issue?” The man asked, turning serious. Garak didn’t miss the fact the doctor was talking to Senal (as he should, since she was Garak’s senior). 

“This unruly pup got into a scrap with some Nausicaans twice his size. All the youngsters are nothing but trouble.”

While Senal’s grousing was usually a source of much needed entertainment, Garak was much more interested in observing the slender human who seemed amused, a knowing smile flickering around the edges of his soft mouth.

“They can’t help it,” The doctor said and turned his gaze to Garak, the soft tone deepening, “it’s the hormones.”

It was condescending and dismissive, but the green eyes were taking him in, whether in curiosity or hunger, Garak wasn’t sure. 

Senal laughed. “They got him in the ribs pretty hard.”

“I’m fine, you nattering crone.” Garak said in exasperation.

“Let me be the judge of that, hmm?” The doctor said in a tone Garak couldn’t for the life of him interpret in any other way than suggestive. 

“Men don’t have a mind for medicine.” Garak said dismissively, firing back. If the doctor wanted to play, the next move was his.

“Maybe not Cardassian men.” The man said calmly, parrying without even a beat. 

Garak suppressed the urge to snarl. That would have been painfully premature. 

“Play nice, Garak. If you come back without getting treatment, I’ll fry you on an induction coil and drag your scrawny ass back here.” He was about to protest when she raised her hand in warning. “I mean it, whelp. I won’t hear your whining when you have to fix the mess in our ducts tomorrow.”

Garak darkened immediately. Even in peak condition, he hated those damned ducts. 

“Fix him up, doctor…” Senal waited for the man to supply his name.

“Subatoi.” The man said calmly. 

“Doctor Subatoi. If this pup as much as twinges while bending over, I ain’t paying you shit.”

The doctor grinned, his eyes alight with mischief.

“I wouldn’t expect you to.”

With a snort, Senal turned on her heel and walked out of the infirmary with her customary heavy gait. Garak knew she had all the subtlety of an Algorian mammoth, the way she stomped around, but he liked her. She was blunt yet uncomplicated. If you did your work as expected, she’d leave you alone and give you minimal tongue-lashing. 

The sound of a whirring medical scanner brought him out of his musings.

“So, _mister_ Garak…let’s see what we have here…”


	4. The Unexpected Patient

Julian's mouth went dry. Back in the poorly-stocked storeroom, when he heard a familiar voice coming from the infirmary, he’d been half-sure he was imagining it. He’d needed a moment to process it, to sort himself out before facing his unasked-for reality.

How could this be happening? Of all the people in the Universe, out of countless billions of sentient beings, why was it that he was sent thirty-seven years into the past only to have Garak crossing his path? 

Now that the man's minder had gone, Julian caught himself staring.

 _Fuck_ , he looked young, so damned young - impossibly, almost. Julian took in the slimmer lines of the Cardassian's body, the almost angelic features of Garak's face, and the longer hair that reached his shoulder blades - a single strand hanging in the front, draped over a lean shoulder. 

The hypnotic quality of Garak’s clear blue eyes was still present, yet somehow…muted. Almost as if the power they held hadn’t yet been developed and honed to its full potential. 

It still hadn’t sunk in that before Julian’s eyes, trying his best to sit impassively, was young Elim Garak, fresh-faced operative of the feared Obsidian Order. Julian took in the slightly stiff posture, the defiant slant of those usually lying lips, and couldn’t reconcile it. Young Garak looked… _innocent_. Julian knew from Garak’s memoir that the person he was currently unable to stop staring at was an operative. Had been for several years now; yet Julian was startled to observe that he couldn’t tell. There was no outward calculation revealed in the youthful features. If he didn’t know better, he would buy this innocuous façade. 

He ran a rickety scanner over Garak’s body and was (predictably) disappointed by the incomplete results.

“The magnification on this thing is broken,” Julian sighed, annoyed at the fact Garak wouldn’t be getting his best due to someone else’s lax professional standards. “You have a hairline fracture on your jaw and one of your ribs. I can treat that without much issue, but you will have to remove your tunic so I can see the extent of the damage myself. I don’t trust this piece of junk.”

Garak gave him an incredulous look and, apparently, decided this was a good time to be facetious. “You don’t seem very in control over your own infirmary.” Garak snickered, and Julian couldn’t tell whether it was meant to be a dig at his competence, or a legitimate attempt at bringing some levity to the situation. Knowing Garak, it was probably a little bit of both. 

“There’s only so much I can fix in, what, two days since I got the job?” Julian said wryly and then gave Garak a chastising look. “Now, stop being obstinate and take your shirt off so I can patch you up.”

Garak made a sound between a huff and a snort, yet actually complied, grey fingers reaching beneath his armpit to unfasten the tunic. Julian tried to ignore it; he really did, but seemed unable to tear his eyes away. He had never seen Garak unclothed, after all; removing the wire hadn’t required him to divest. How could Julian give up the chance to see the man without his usual layers?

“I must admit…” Garak said in a clear voice, all the while shrugging out of his tunic. “Out of all the ways to get me naked that I’ve heard so far, this has got to be the most creative.” Julian couldn’t help but stare at the picture Garak made, sitting with his legs slightly spread, almost lounging on the cot – arms propping him up and tunic pooled around his hips, sleeves down to his elbows. Garak didn’t bother taking the garment off completely, merely sat there on full display, all casual and careless.

Julian felt an embarrassingly immediate spike of arousal.

He wanted to lick Garak from groin to sternum, following the ornate ridge to the little medallion nestled between his collar bones; wanted to bite the subtly darkening scales of his neck until-

Instead, he took a deep breath and directed his wandering eye where it belonged – to Garak’s injury. The lower left part of Garak’s ribcage was discolored, mottled a violent shade of purple.

“Huh,” Garak said in a strange, almost detached tone, “that looks worse than I thought it would.”

Julian couldn’t help the snicker that escaped him. “All young men think themselves indestructible.”

Garak’s cocky smirk was absolutely indecent. Julian did his best to suppress his body’s natural reaction to it. With a sure and practiced motion, he pressed his fingers into Garak’s ribs, feeling around. Garak jerked away with a hiss. Julian grinned up at him. “Not so indestructible, after all?” The narrowing, petulant gaze he got in return was so worth it. “I’ll be as gentle as possible, but it might still hurt. Sorry about that.” 

Garak’s eyes squinted at him with suspicion, but Julian simply gave him a reassuring smile and waited until his patient seemed comfortable enough to proceed. 

“It won’t take long.” Julian assured him and resumed the examination. Garak flinched, but remained in place. “That’s good, just a little bit more.” Julian said soothingly, trying to ignore the fact he was touching Garak’s bare skin. 

It felt wrong to be lusting after a patient – Julian knew that. The infirmary was a safe space, a sanctuary – a place of rest and healing for his patients. Never before had he felt tempted to breach the boundaries of propriety while on the job, his sense of professionalism had always kept him in check. He remembered Melora and Sarina, the way his need to see them healed bled into personal feelings. It had been dubious, he could see that now - especially where Sarina was concerned. She hadn’t been ready for anything on the level of what he’d inadvertently tried to push her to. He was still ashamed of how oblivious and hurtful he’d been. And here he was again, letting his personal feelings influence his behavior.

Except...not quite. 

Where before it was his compassion that stirred his desire, now it was the other way around. He’d wanted Garak long before he’d become his doctor. It still wasn’t right, though. Julian wrestled with his conscience.

But this was Garak – young, unpolished, uncouth. Brazen and unapologetic; young Elim was a deliberate tease not fully aware of his own appeal.

Elim Garak in his twenties was… _arresting_.

Resisting the urge to let his touch linger, Julian slid into the practiced ease of his doctor persona and straightened out.

“Well, I’ve got good news – nothing’s broken, and I will run an osteo-regenerator over the hairline fractures. The dermal regenerator I have is only good for burns, so I will give you a hypo for the pain while I rub a salve into your skin to help with the swelling.”

It took Julian years to get his tone to be authoritative enough to discourage input from misguided patients. That went double for Klingons, Nausicaans and Cardassians. You had to hold your own or they’d eat you alive. At forty-two, Julian knew he had both the knowledge and the expertise to treat most races that frequented DS9. This self-confidence was an invaluable resource. The amount of second-guessing his younger self did was ridiculous. There was no way he would have the energy for such a thing now.

After one last reassuring look at Garak, he turned away to fetch the hypo and the salve.

***

The human wanted something; that much Garak could tell. Now, whether that was to get Garak into bed, or something more sinister, he wasn’t sure. There was no need for all this extraneous touch unless there was an agenda. Garak’s training urged him to be cautious, but his gut was telling him that the doctor was merely interested in him sexually. The lingering looks, the banter, the touch; the gentle assertion of authority… 

Much to his dismay, Garak realized that it was brutally effective. If the human was trying to seduce him, he was succeeding. And if the doctor wanted something else on top of that, Garak was curious enough to go through with it, if only to get a chance to figure out whether the human was an enemy agent. 

Starfleet Intelligence had no reason to be in this region of space, there was no strategic or political interest in a small station deep in Ferengi territory. There was nothing to be gained by planting an agent here. Now, it was always possible that the human was no human at all, but any Romulan with a working brain could find a better disguise. There were many humanoids that would be more beneficial to masquerade as – a human in this region of space would (and did) stick out like an inflamed scute. 

And if not Romulans, then who? Who would benefit from this? 

Briefly, he wondered whether to allow the doctor to give him any medication whatsoever, in case it was poisoned, but then thought better of it – if the medication was tampered with, why would the doctor be trying to seduce him? To distract him? Also, the odds of there being an assassin after him specifically was infinitesimal. Garak was here undercover; none of his crewmates knew he was with the Order, and he was not high enough in the ranks yet to merit this kind of effort. Also, he hadn’t been with the Order long enough to have made an enemy powerful enough (or motivated enough) to kill him. He was sure that in time, that would come, but for now… He was still on the low end of the food chain. 

When the doctor approached once more, with a hypospray and a jar of salve, Garak felt compelled to ask – “What are you giving me? Do you even know what’s compatible with Cardassian physiology?”

He got a toothy grin in response and realized his words were taken as flirtation.

“I know a thing or two about Cardassian physiology, Mr Garak.” The doctor said, clearly amused, and Garak wondered how many patients fell for this particular line. The human was clearly well-aware of his appeal. 

“10 cc’s of triptacederine should be enough.”

Garak shrugged, trying to hide the fact he’d heard of the compound before. It was what the Order doctors used for the pain after the surgeries. Having your ridges removed and soft skin stretching over bones…hurt. Without a healthy dose of the drug, it was excruciating. Garak was glad he wasn’t chosen for such missions often. Staring at your face in the mirror while so altered…did a funny thing to your head. 

A subtle hiss against his neck made him pay attention to his body. He knew what the drug felt like and monitored his responses to see whether the doctor had been truthful. 

“There we go. Now, let’s mend these bones, hmm?” The doctor’s warm voice washed over him, and a blissfully warm hand tilted his jaw gently. The osteo-regenerator came to life with a low-pitched whine and Garak remained still while the doctor ran it along his jawline. 

Garak wondered whether humans had a different idea about what constituted proper bedside manner, or whether it was just this human in particular.

Subatoi.

There was no reason to be this gentle, was there? Garak wasn’t a small, skittish child. Yet, it didn’t feel _bad_ to be treated carefully. The doctor’s manner suggested he was quite experienced; there was no hesitation to his movements, no doubts marring his features. Even though his instruments were inferior, doctor Subatoi was self-assured and methodical. 

“I will rub the salve in now, if that’s all right? The pain should be minimal.”

Garak nodded in assent and observed as the doctor rubbed his hands together vigorously before dipping three fingers into the uncapped jar and scooping out a yellowish glob of…something. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the rubbing hands, from the way the fingers intertwined almost hypnotically, in and out, over and over. 

By the time the slickened palms slid against his skin, he was forced to press his legs together to remind his body not to reveal his arousal so obviously. 

“Is that comfortable?” The doctor asked, making Garak’s gaze snap up from the industrious hands to the man’s face. 

“Comfortable?”

“Temperature-wise. I know Cardassians run hotter, so I hoped I’d warmed my hands enough.”

Garak blinked. He couldn’t remember any doctor being half as considerate to him before and wondered what kind of person had the train of thought that deemed it necessary to go so far out of their way to make another comfortable. It was completely alien to him.

“Yes. It feels-“ _like a brand,_ “Fine.”

Fine was the wrong word. _Disturbingly_ _good_ would be more apt, but he could hardly tell the truth, could he?

Doctor Subatoi smiled, visibly relieved and went back to smearing the salve into his bruised skin. Garak did his best not to shiver. His ribs felt slightly tender, but there was no pain. And as pleasantly warm palms roved across his skin in circles, fingers brushing against his scales pleasantly, he bit his lower lip, hoping that his doctor didn’t know the significance of darkening ridges. 

***

Julian was just about done with the salve when he noticed it – a deepening flush creeping across Garak’s ventral ridge, crawling up. He followed the darkened trail and took note of Garak’s neck ridges, fully shadowed and in beautiful contrast against the rest of light grey skin. He had to shake his head to jar himself out of his thoughts, as they were veering ever deeper into unacceptable territory. He was not about to molest a patient, even a terribly flirty one. 

“There, all done.” Julian said amiably and withdrew his hands, recapping the jar. 

When he dared look at Garak again, he found the young agent staring at him with calculation in his eyes.

“You may get dressed, you know?” Julian noted wryly, hoping Garak would cover up before he was tempted to pounce on him.

“Oh, just as I was getting comfortable…” Garak drawled, sitting there on full display, his mouth mocking and enticing in equal measure. “Do you seduce all your patients?” The Cardassian said lightly, his legs swaying playfully. 

Garak reminded Julian of an unruly child who had done something expressly against his parents’ wishes, just to get a rise out of them – gleefully awaiting an explosion. 

“Only the ones that follow direction as obediently as you.” Julian retorted, unable to help himself.

Garak sucked in a breath and Julian noted that the indentation in the middle of his forehead had gotten darker. Julian wanted to press a finger into it, to trail fingertips across the ridges over Garak’s zygomatic bone, and to steal a kiss from that insolent mouth.

“However,” Julian said in what he hoped was a professional manner, “I’m not in the habit of doing anything while on the job.”

Garak snorted in clear disbelief, but didn’t waste time coming up with an answer. “That sounded like an invitation to me…”

Julian halted.

What the hell was he doing, flirting with young Garak? The man was a spy! Not a former one, either; a fully-fledged operative in his prime. He was not the man Julian knew so intimately. For one, he was more blunt, more direct. The Garak he knew would have an angle, a reason to flirt with him so outrageously from the get-go. This was not _his_ Garak. Julian didn’t know this man. He wasn’t fool enough to believe everything Garak had written to him about in his memoir. For sure, that huge letter had been more open than anything he’d ever had from the man, but he would be an idiot not to notice any lack of detail when it came to actual missions. His Garak may trust him with his heart, but not with details of his murky past in the Order.

Julian straightened out.

“You’re right. This was completely inappropriate of me. I’m sorry.”

Garak’s brow ridges furrowed but he said nothing.

“If you have any residual pain tomorrow, you know where to find me. I’ll leave you to get dressed.”

With that, he turned on his heel and all but fled to the storage room. 


	5. In Search of Fun

After his working hours were past (apparently, Ferengi doctors had working hours and woe to those who got sick or injured outside the allotted time), Julian sat in his quarters, contemplating. Somewhere on this station or on a ship docked to the station, breathed and schemed a young, twenty-something Garak. 

Julian was torn. On one hand, staying in his quarters might get him out of any further encounters with Garak, but on the other, wasn’t that squandering this opportunity? When else would he get the chance to observe his friend in his youth or, better yet, get to know things about him that the older Garak would never let slip?

This was an once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and he was letting it slip through his fingers. 

Yet, he knew Garak was dangerous. If the young agent sniffed Julian out, he’d be entirely unsurprised to find himself bound to a chair and interrogated. And he couldn’t spill the truth about the future to his Cardassian friend, or who knows how the timeline could be affected… Truth be told, any Orb of Time incidents seemed to work themselves out, but to put stock in that seemed foolhardy. 

Julian took in the dreary, empty room and sighed. Instead of wallowing in here, he could be having a drink, maybe go say hi to his new Bajoran friend, Darein. Perhaps, while he was at it, he could catch glimpse of Garak, try to figure out what the young spy was up to…

 _No_ , he chided himself. That was a terrible idea. He wasn’t here to change things.

Was he?

Whatever Garak was up to, he’d never tell Julian about it. And if Julian started snooping around, that was a surefire way to get Garak’s attention in the worst possible way. If Garak caught Julian spying on him, there would be no convincing the operative of his innocence. And he would rather not push his luck – who knew what a devoted agent of the Obsidian Order was capable of? This was not the Garak who had begun to doubt his role in Cardassian society. Julian truly didn’t want to imagine what kind of damage Garak could do to their timeline if he found out Julian was from the future. 

And Julian had no intention of dying here. 

He stared at the constricting walls around him and sighed. 

He really needed a drink.

***

Garak tapped into the hacked feed and observed. The rudimentary code had been relatively simple to break (using Bajoran lettering – how crude!), and he was currently feeling quite pleased with himself. The time and place of the meeting blinked on his screen and he smirked. 

He would plant a small camera with a listening device in the meeting place and see who exactly this trafficker was meeting with. If his hunch was correct, his captain’s right hand man would be facing a very long time in the labor camps, if not an outright execution. 

Why anybody would wish to smuggle Bajorans was beyond him. To take such a risk for virtually nothing! Everyone knew how long the reach of the Obsidian Order was, and yet, they still tried to flaunt the Union’s laws. Garak felt proud of his role in bringing such disharmonious, traitorous subjects to heel.

He didn’t have long to plant his device, so he grabbed his toolkit and left his quarters. Senal asked him where he was going and he said he just needed to get a small replacement part for one of his tools. 

“Do you want me to be ready to retrofit a new plasma coil tomorrow, or not?” 

“You’d better be!” Her eyes flashed a warning and he gave her an insolent grin, just the kind that made her go soft. 

With Senal’s approval, he left the ship and boarded the station. 

The trouble with Ferengi stations was a lack of an up-to-date layout. The odds of the original layout of the place being unchanged was zero. The mercantile race was so prone to _improvements_ and _optimization_ , that they often sold off parts of the infrastructure (and replaced it with cheaper, inferior substitutes), and the shops and spaces they rented out changed hands so often that it was impossible to keep track of it all, especially in such transient places as space stations. 

Garak navigated the nonsensical layout of the place, avoiding the petty Ferengi trying to sell him anything from fenced jewelry to broken power-tools. When a scurrying Ferengi started whispering about discreet places to have some _fun_ , Garak scoffed and told the man he was more than capable of finding his own fun.

Espionage _was_ fun. It tested the limits of Garak’s creativity. Technically, he could have bribed someone to place the monitoring device for him, or paid a courier to leave a parcel in the right spot. He still remembered the inspired choice to plant his device in an improvised pile of sick that one time. It was so disgusting nobody wanted to touch it and it remained there for quite a while. It also had an in-built switch to melt itself down once he was done with it so nobody could identify what it had once been. 

This time Garak had the added bonus of a suitable cover story, so he could freely walk around like a mechanic and improvise around it.

The meeting spot, as it turned out, was in a secluded cargo bay that barely took him a metric to access. Ferengi may be good with money, but their security measures were laughable. If only they were less greedy, maybe then they would have systems _worth_ hacking. 

All in all, it took him around ten metrics to plant several of his devices in suitably unobtrusive places. In case of discovery, he had a manual self-destruct switch, but these turned into slag by themselves at the first sign of tampering (they responded only to his personal bio-signature). If anyone else tried touching them, they would erase any data they had collected before the internal battery was breached and the acid dissolved everything inside the chassis.

Just as he was about to head out, the doors to the cargo bay opened. He dove for cover and stilled his breathing. Several whiny voices reached him and he cursed internally. 

Ferengi.

Those damned ears caught everything, so he turned himself pliant and went lax. He couldn’t sneak out past them, not unless they made a racket. Instead, he listened to the details of their scheme and caught about half of it. It was about as inane as he’d expected – they were skimming 10% off of their boss’ shipment and had snuck in to avail themselves of the cargo. He waited for the better part of a time unit until they were gone and then snuck out.

He’d learned a long time ago that if you looked like you knew exactly where you were going, people tended to leave you alone, so he decided to head into the local bar for a drink. The Nausicaans’ ship had departed a few hours ago, and he knew he’d get no further trouble from that quarter. His limbs were protesting the forced stillness of the past hour, so he stretched a bit to force blood back into his extremities. At least it wasn’t too cold - the Ferengi kept the station hot and humid. Even the light-levels were acceptable, if not too white for his tastes.

When he stepped into the bar he surreptitiously surveyed the place. The bar was all but full, and most tables were occupied. Then his gaze slid over the solitary figure in a corner booth and he grinned.

Oh, yes. 

He was definitely capable of finding his own fun.


	6. Can't Resist

“May I join you?”

Julian startled, looking up from his synthale, straight into a pair of twinkling blue eyes. 

It felt like only yesterday that he’d met Garak at the Replimat - Julian all flustered and tongue-tied, and perhaps, just a tad awestruck. He’d been so excited, so _eager_ for the intrigue that he hadn’t given a single thought to how dangerous a game he was playing. 

He knew better now.

“By all means,” Julian said amiably and motioned to the fake leather seat next to him. He was proud of himself for not stuttering. The memory of his bumbling younger self from their first meeting still occasionally brought a flush of embarrassment to his cheeks. He’d been so… _green_.

This Garak may be younger than Julian had been when they first met, even if only by a few years, yet Julian could tell there was less naiveté there – growing up as the secret son of Tain would cure even the most innocent child of any lingering illusions. Still, from Garak’s memoir, he’d gleaned a certain idealism Garak had never managed to shake off – Cardassia had crawled under his skin, impossible to dislodge. 

Cardassia and Garak were fused together like a melted power coupling. 

Julian watched Garak fling himself into the seat almost carelessly, and Julian couldn’t tell whether it was natural or simply a different sort of affectation than the one he was used to. His Garak was always so perfectly measured that he lacked the easy grace of his younger counterpart. It occurred to Julian that this too could merely be an act.

“Do your ribs still hurt?” Julian asked, escaping into his own persona, where it felt safe.

It took Garak just a moment too long to respond, his smile a shade too dazzling to be genuine.

“Aw, so you can use it as an excuse to see me naked again?” Garak grinned and leaned in, “Didn’t get enough the first time?”

Julian realized at once what Garak was trying to do – fluster him. The attempt fell just short of the mark. If Julian had been younger, it might have worked, but with his intimate knowledge of the man, it merely came across as contrived. Garak was hiding his true thoughts behind showmanship, as usual. It lacked the finesse time and experience would give him. 

What to do, though? Should he give Garak the taste of his own medicine and tease back? 

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Julian said honestly. “It was unprofessional.”

Garak snorted and waved his hand dismissively, the motion fluid and graceful. Julian was pleased to see the theatricality seemed to be a natural tendency of Garak’s. Sure, it was a tendency honed and used to please and placate Garak’s parents, peers and figures of authority, but it was innate – a real part of the man’s personality. Garak clearly chose to play it up when he felt like it, and Julian was amused to see he apparently made the list of people the young spy wished to impress.

“I mean it, Mr Garak,” Julian reiterated, keeping eye contact, “I should have ignored any attraction I felt and treated you as I would anyone else.”

Garak looked at him like he wanted to say ‘ _are_ _you_ _bullshitting me?’_ and Julian allowed his contriteness to show. Julian wasn’t flustered by his own blunders anymore; they merely made him shrug and sigh. With age and experience, he’d become significantly more self-aware. 

“Well, you’re not – how did you put it-,” Garak trailed off in a manner that was probably about as charming as he hoped it would be, “on the job, anymore.”

Julian couldn’t help but to smile at the cheekiness and drawled as his eyes traveled the length of Garak’s body, “That sounded remarkably like a proposition, Mr Garak…”

Blue eyes blazed with a fierce emotion and Garak jutted his chin out, revealing his bare neck like a challenge, almost. Or permission. The moment stretched, the only communication between them a charged gaze. Garak’s ridges were flushing and darkening before his eyes, and Julian failed to suppress the hitch in his breath.

This was different, he realized. 

He’d been attracted to other people before, men and women; human and alien, but he could not recall an instance where the need had felt quite so acute and immediate.

Julian desired Garak.

Still, he’d have to be blind not to notice how ill-advised this was. No matter how alluring young Garak was - to tumble into bed with him seemed the height of folly.

“We shouldn’t…” Julian trailed off, focusing on his glass.

“Why? Are you enjoined?” Garak asked and Julian snorted, quite despite himself.

“No, no I’m not.” He said truthfully. 

“I have no way of knowing whether you’re lying or not, you know that, right?” Garak snickered at him, seemingly unperturbed by the prospect.

It felt kind of sordid. Didn’t Garak care at all about being involved in an affair? Maybe a one-night stand didn’t count. With no feelings involved, it was likely. Sadly, Julian _did_ have feelings for this confusing youthful version of the man he’d grown to respect. How it was possible to love a man he hadn’t yet met, he wasn’t sure. Julian was probably projecting what he knew of the man Garak would become onto his younger self, and he knew how terribly unwise that was.

“I haven’t been in a relationship with anyone since my last break-up, around two years ago.” Julian admitted, recalling the slightly frosty, yet amiable parting with Ezri. There had been no infidelity or anger involved, they’d merely…drifted apart. Their life goals had diverged – Ezri wanted a command post and Julian didn’t feel inclined to leave the only place that had ever felt like home to him, so…they went their separate ways. Ezri seemed really engaged, charting unknown space, and Julian was happy for her.

“What went wrong?” Garak leaned his elbows on the table, watching Julian with rapt attention. Julian smiled at the contrivance, but indulged him anyway. As long as no names or details were mentioned, it should be fine.

“We no longer wanted the same things in life,” Julian shrugged. “It happens.”

“How boring!” Garak huffed, leaning back into the scuffed leather seating.

“What did you expect?” Julian asked in amusement, “A torrid affair with three Lurian men and a mud-bath?” 

Garak’s flirty façade cracked and a gushing, almost incredulous laughter filled the air. Julian felt it suited him. The way laughing lines formed around Garak’s mouth, creating lovely little furrows – so utterly inviting; why, Julian was almost tempted to reach out and- 

No. Better not.

Garak leaned his head against the shabby upholstery, peering at him with a wry grin. “That would have made for a better story, that’s for sure!” 

Julian quirked an eyebrow at him. “Sorry to disappoint; I guess I’m just a boring human after all.” 

Yet Garak wasn’t looking at him like he was boring; quite the opposite. Julian wondered how anyone could resist Garak when he chose to look at them this way, like they were the most fascinating puzzle to be solved. And Julian knew it was a dangerous look. He’d piqued Garak’s curiosity, and that wasn’t something he could afford. He had to mitigate the damage. If only he’d refrained from flirting at the infirmary, then he’d have half a chance at going under Garak’s radar.

All he could do now was to try and lose his interest or to somehow divert it.

“Don’t you have better things to do than question me about my nonexistent love life?” Julian looked at Garak pointedly. 

“Not really,” Garak shrugged. “My crew is stuck here until we get replacement parts for the repairs we need. The shipment isn’t due until tomorrow morning, so I’ve nothing else to do. I mean, I could stay on my ship, but that’s…”

“Boring?” Julian offered, falling once again into the easy rhythm of banter.

Garak barked out a laugh and nodded his head in a peculiar way.

“Exactly.”

Julian kept smiling, fully aware that Garak being here at all meant there was some plot afoot. Who or what was involved, he couldn’t say, but Garak posing as a simple mechanic was almost laughable, especially when Julian knew just how competent the man was. Or would be, one day.

Oh, but the way Garak was looking at him…it was so _indecent_. The heat of his gaze made Julian’s skin prickle, hairs on his arms and neck standing on end. Garak was all but melting into the seat, in a pose Julian would be embarrassed to be caught in out in public. It was sensual in a way Julian had never known Garak could manage, and it looked almost…submissive.

“Would I…” Garak drew out the question by raking his eyes over Julian, “…be your first Cardassian?”

Julian stifled a groan.

He was damned lucky his Garak had never acted this way. Julian wasn’t sure he’d have managed to resist it. He caught himself leaning in and stopped, almost half-way to Garak; wrestling with his better judgment. The youth was trying to seduce him, and like a fool, he’d almost fallen for it.

“Are you always this frisky, Mr Garak?” Julian said instead, wanting to pull back but too eager to see the reaction.

“Only if the person in front of me is interesting.” Garak said lightly, his eyes straying to Julian’s mouth and then left, following the line of his uncovered neck (Julian was wearing non-descript civilian clothing – it wasn’t like he could take his uniform out for a spin).

Julian’s brain wasn’t firing on all cylinders at the moment, which was made painfully clear when Garak raised his hand in a casual manner and ran the back of his fingers down the side of Julian’s neck, eyeing the action with an almost cruel fascination. 

Frowning, Julian snatched the offending wrist and held Garak’s arm in place; thumb pushed into the grey palm and fingers curled tightly around the back of his hand. Julian’s eyes flashed a warning Garak’s way, and he was startled when the action made the Cardassian expel a moan.

Julian concluded in that moment that Garak wasn’t just playing with him; the young spy seemed to have every intention of going through with his offer. As he took in the sight of Garak’s parted lips, rising chest and half-lidded eyes, he cursed the impulsiveness the sight seemed to resurrect within him.

Before he’d decided on a course of action, Garak had moved into his personal space and nipped his chin. Too shocked by the unexpectedness of the action, Julian submitted to further nips along his jaw and realized through a haze that Garak was probably doing something that would be arousing to a Cardassian, what with their facial configuration. It really shouldn’t be doing much for him at all, but the soft, potentially accidental drag of Garak’s lips through his trimmed beard sent mixed-signals to his brain.

He was losing awareness of the other patrons of the bar - the clinking of glasses got muted, the rowdiness of the crowd playing tongo in one of the corners was subdued, the scents of flavored smoke and alcohol faded as the young Cardassian half-draped over him stole every last bit of his attention.

 _Fuck this_ , Julian thought and grasped Garak’s jaw, guiding his head up by pushing a thumb into the soft skin under Garak’s chin. The blue eyes were glazed, and Julian was having a hard time imagining anyone who could fake a look like that. There was not a trace of the controlled man Julian knew, only the bared desire of someone very, _very_ willing. 

As far as distractions went, it was a good one.

Patience fraying, Julian decided to return the favor and leaned in.

With excruciating little nips to Garak’s delicately ridged chin, he journeyed along the sharp jawline, interspersing the drag of his lips with carefully measured bites into the aural ridges. Garak was breathing heavily, straining against him.

Julian’s ears picked up raucous laughter somewhere to their left, and the tail-end of a Ferengi expletive which his UT translated as ‘ _scaled_ _hussy’_. 

“Is this what you want?” Julian mumbled darkly against Garak’s ear, relishing the little sound of approval he got for his troubles. “I guess you like the audience?” Julian asked, too curious not to push the responsive creature caught in his grasp.

What other sublime sounds could he coax from Garak’s supple lips?

Garak huffed and gave him a pointed look.

“I’m sure they’d like a good show, but I’d rather we take this somewhere more private.”

Julian nodded, enjoying Garak’s keen countenance.

“I can’t take you to the ship; I share quarters with the others.” Garak said softly and then smirked. “Besides, Senal would kill me.”

Julian noted how blunt the attempt at circumspection was. This was the equivalent of Garak inviting himself into Julian’s quarters, and it was anything but subtle.

“I don’t have roommates, but my quarters are…not terribly comfortable.” Julian admitted.

He knew this wasn’t meant to be the height of romance, but…it was Garak. Even if the youth didn’t know it, Julian felt like Garak deserved better than a clumsy fumble against a creaking mesh wall.

Garak rolled his eyes, undeterred by the warning. 

“I reserve the right to walk away if you live in a vole’s nest.” Garak pointed out haughtily and Julian laughed, utterly disarmed.

With some reluctance, Garak got to his feet and Julian took a strip of latinum out of his pocket, letting it clank against the table. He finished his ale in a long swig and rose out of his seat. Garak looked entirely too self-satisfied. It made Julian want to wipe the insolent expression off of his face with a well-placed kiss.

Quite unconsciously, he placed his hand on the small of Garak’s back and steered him towards the exit of the bar. The young operative made a sinuous movement, leaning into the touch and gazing at Julian’s neck before looking him in the eye.

Julian almost forgot where he was – thirty-seven years in the past, in a dingy bar in the middle of nowhere; deep in Ferengi space - all he could see was a barely restrained, playful kind of excitement bleeding off of Garak. He leaned closer, staring at Garak’s lightly parted lips, when movement to his immediate left diverted his attention; they were blocking the exit. Julian stepped aside, pulling Garak closer without a thought.

His new Bajoran friend, Darein, looked at him with a small smile of acknowledgment before his expression shifted, nose ridges scrunching up in distaste. “Subatoi,” Darein stated in a flat tone and passed them by with a soured expression pinching his usually mild features.

“Friend of yours?” Garak asked.

Julian’s gaze trailed after the man. He guessed not. 

“Acquaintance.” Julian said, pained to have inadvertently hurt his benefactor. 

There was nothing to be done. Julian looked at the Cardassian half-tucked into his side and suppressed a shiver. What was it about Garak that made Julian reckless and giddy like a schoolboy? Was it the teasing glint in his blue eyes, or the triumphant little smirk tugging at his lips? The warm grey hand splayed across his chest wasn’t helping either. 

He shook off the thrall and gently directed Garak through the metal archway and into the corridor.

***

It had been too easy, Garak thought. 

Still, he was fairly certain now that the attraction wasn’t feigned – the human seemed pretty open with him, and the reluctance the doctor had displayed seemed to stem from some kind of moral dilemma and not a plot. Well, either that, or the human was more adept an actor than Garak gave him credit for.

The touch to the small of his back had been deliciously possessive and he thrilled at the thought. He wondered how many of his former classmates would gape at the sight of him next to a man who looked like an artwork come to life. Cardassians may openly frown at aliens, but most of them would jump at the chance to… _taste_ what’s on offer. Anyone claiming otherwise was either a raging hypocrite or an idiot.

And only an idiot would pass up the chance to fuck a specimen as gorgeous as Doctor Subatoi.

“My quarters are near the Infirmary.” The doctor said and Garak could feel the human’s hand curving gently around his waist. The resulting shudder he’d managed to suppress, but he knew his ridges were a lost cause. He could feel them pulsing with heat, a trail of warmth extending down his shoulder and sternum. 

It was almost unfair, really. This played into every single stereotype – an older partner, experienced and forward; taking the reins and showing him pleasure… Every Cardassian’s wet dream, honestly.

Garak knew he shouldn’t feel accomplished; shouldn’t preen at the attention, and yet...here he was, soaking up those barely restrained lustful gazes the doctor was shooting his way.

He was looking forward to the promise they conveyed.


	7. Breaking the Taboo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the, ahem, spicy content begins.

It wasn't like a vole's nest, Garak thought as he stepped into the Doctor's quarters.

It was _worse_. 

There were cables swinging loosely from the ceiling, their insulation layer peeled away; the guts of the ventilation unit were freely visible through the mesh wall, rattling ominously, and there was a persistent low hum he could not pinpoint the origin of. 

"Yes, I know," the doctor commented wryly. "It's just as bad as it looks. For some reason, the replicator only makes knock-off Slug-O-Cola; the toilet doesn't flush unless you press the latch in a very specific way, and the sonic shower is stuck on the highest setting. I can spend about a minute in there before my teeth start to rattle in my skull."

Garak was amused despite himself. There was something almost Cardassian in the candid way the human complained about the room's obvious shortcomings.

"Good thing I'm not here for the scenery, then." Garak grinned unapologetically, pleased beyond reason when his mirth was well received. 

"I did try to warn you!" The human laughed and Garak had a perfect retort at the ready.

"You were not as explicit in your wording, as far as I remember." And remembered he did. "I am beginning to wonder whether I'm being swindled…" 

That netted Garak a smoldering look potent enough to split his seam. 

"Are all Cardassians as mouthy as you, Mr Garak?"

The use of the honorific was unnecessary; to other Cardassians Garak was unworthy of any appellation beyond his service class name, but he didn't see the merit in pointing this out. It was kind of thrilling to get the respect he wasn't due, even if by simple mistake. 

"Being loquacious is a valued trait among my people, Doctor. Do humans prefer witlessness?"

The doctor scoffed dismissively.

"Of course not." Subatoi said in a soft, drawn out manner, "We do, however, reach a point during the proceedings after which conversation proves superfluous, however…" A warm hand the color of Mekar sands grasped his neck gently, "...in your case, I would rather you continue to speak your mind."

"You expect me to sing your praises, don't you?" Garak provoked, hoping for another round of verbal sparring. Even among his own kind it was rare to find an individual with whom one could fall into such an easy rhythm. 

"Praise me, curse me; I don't mind." Subatoi offered casually, "As long as I have earned it." 

Garak felt his seam flutter at the words. 

The hand on his neck ridges tightened marginally, tepid fingers too soft to be Cardassian pushed into the grooves of his scutes; dipping, skimming, exploring. Another lash of warmth coiled through his ridges, immolating a stripe down his arms, stomach, and further down. 

"They are so dark," the human murmured, "I wonder how much darker they can get?"

Garak bit back a moan. This was not a question brought up in polite company; then again, he was currently undercover as the dregs of society. To make the assumption that he was less than prim was fair. That was, if the human had any idea what he'd just asked, which Garak doubted. All he knew was that the doctor was regarding him with a decidedly indecent gleam in his green eyes.

Garak wasn't stupid; he knew he was dealing with a xenophile - every touch brought a look of wonder to the human's handsome face, the eagerness in his features plain to see. Not content to simply be explored, Garak decided to do some exploring of his own. He trailed a hand down the man's clothed chest (a v-neck in a muted grey that suited the doctor just fine, but enhanced none of his wonderful natural coloring, which was a shame), and noted the simple, unadorned lines of the chest. It seemed so unnaturally smooth with no grooves to catch his fingertips - where was he even supposed to grasp? 

"This would be easier with no clothing in the way…" the doctor remarked in a deceptively innocent tone, and eyed Garak's tunic hungrily. "May I?" He asked, eyes the color of Morfan coral boring into his with what seemed more of a demand, rather than request for permission. 

It made Garak's ridges pulse.

"You first." Garak said, hating his unintentionally breathless delivery. "You already saw me; it's only fair."

The human grinned. "Anyone ever tell you how adorable you are when you're petulant?"

Garak's protesting gasp only seemed to increase the human's amusement, but Garak had no time to be indignant because the doctor chose to use the next moment to grab the bottom seam of his shirt and pull it over his head in a single fluid motion which showed off his lithe physique to maximum effect. The tightly corded muscles of the human's stomach, chest, and arms rippled subtly beneath the supple skin. Cardassian musculature was better hidden under their thicker, more resilient epidermis - even naked, it was hard to discern how they were built on the inside. Humans seemed the complete opposite, everything readily visible - cord of muscle, jut of bone; everywhere. 

"Like what you see?" The human asked, clearly having caught Garak staring. 

"That depends," he drawled. "Do I get to examine you as thoroughly as you did me?"

Brown nostrils flared, and Subatoi's voice darkened.

"I'm at your disposal, _Mr_ Garak…"

Garak hummed in a way he hoped humans could recognize as sceptical and placed both palms on the doctor's chest. The first slide of fingers revealed just how sinfully soft human skin was. Garak hadn't planned on moaning his appreciation for this alien feature, but his voice had decided to betray him. 

"You can touch anywhere you want," Subatoi assured him, even if Garak thought the words sounded like a challenge.

"Anywhere?" Garak reiterated, feeling mischievous.

"That's what I said." The doctor reaffirmed, before his expression turned hesitant. "May I...touch you?" 

"You already have," Garak pointed out superfluously, being contrary for the sake of it. The doctor shrugged lightly.

"Doesn't hurt to make sure we're on the same page." 

Garak's voice lowered into a conspiratorial whisper. "I'm pretty sure we're reading the same book." 

Subatoi laughed, one of his hands coming to rest on Garak's waist. "As long as it's not the _Never-ending Sacrifice,_ I'm good!"

Garak blinked twice and blurted out his surprise like an inexperienced probe, "You read Cardassian literature?" 

"Some," Subatoi admitted, looking vaguely uncomfortable, "though I am yet to find a novel I like. They are so repetitive! I could read one chapter and know exactly how the rest of the book would play out!"

"But, that's the entire point!" Garak found his indignation stoked (and ignored it, this was _not_ courtship). 

"Oh?" Subatoi said slyly, "I wasn't aware mechanics had time to read books…" 

Refusing to acknowledge he'd been caught out, Garak huffed. "Everyone needs a hobby...besides, the hours in warp can be so... _lonely._ "

His sultry look must have been effective, since Subatoi's eyes flashed with heat.

"I think it's time I took another look at your ribs, Mr Garak, just to see if they are healing nicely...after all, I couldn't in good conscience recommend strenuous physical activity unless you are in perfect health…"

Garak was forced to bite his lower lip, lest he embarrass himself utterly. There was a reason why doctors were prominently featured in a plethora of Cardassian pornographic material - the intimate knowledge of the patient's weaknesses, the absolute power over one's life; the knife's edge of awareness that one wrong move could result in death for the patient or a lawsuit resulting in many years of labor camps for the doctor should the patient complain of mistreatment and have sufficient evidence to back it up… Just imagining the high-stakes game was thrilling. It didn't matter that Subatoi wasn't a Cardassian doctor, Garak's brain had been too well-conditioned to divorce himself from the idea. 

"You know best," Garak demurred softly. 

The human groaned and next thing Garak knew, he was being kissed, warm lips softer than the petals of Edosian orchids pressing against his most insistently. His body froze for a moment as his mind tried to parse this development (Cardassians kissed, but only post-coitus). Garak didn't consider himself a prude, how could he? He'd touched and tasted places on another Cardassian's body that were considered improper, and yet, he'd never thought to kiss another before it was expected to happen. It simply wasn't done. 

Well, humans either had differing customs, or were even more sexually deviant than he'd given them credit for. 

Feeling incredibly exhilarated by the prospect, he opened his mouth at the insistence, groaning as the unfamiliar taste burst across his tongue. The mouth seemed to be warmer than the rest of the human's anatomy, and Garak's hand slid down the firm, narrow back, luxuriating in the texture. 

"Garak," Subatoi panted into his mouth, wiry hands grasping at his waist and tunic-covered chest possessively.

Too enthralled by the newly-discovered sensations, Garak dove back in, nipping at Subatoi's lips and provoking a new groan. 

Impatient hands scrabbled across his tunic, and Garak raised his arms helpfully, giving the doctor access to divest him. He moaned helplessly when two wiry arms took his wrists captive and pressed them against the wall. The human was stronger than he looked and Garak felt himself slickening, his muscles releasing before he'd managed to clamp down. It left him half-everted, the tip of his member peeking out of his sheath. 

"Garak…" The human called out his name needily and dipped in, mouthing at his ridges, kissing and biting. 

Unable to help himself, Garak writhed against the wall, arching into the bared body keeping him captive. He could break free easily, his hand-to-hand lessons still fresh in his mind, but everything in him was screaming to submit. 

The human held no actual power over him, no authority, and while Garak was sometimes quite irreverent towards authority figures, there was just something about the human doctor that compelled him to go lax and compliant in his hands. 

"So beautiful…" Subatoi murmured against his neck, seemingly lost in the pleasure of tasting and teasing his ridges. 

Garak assumed the doctor was referring to his anatomy (probably exotic by human standards), and not his person. After all, no one had ever found him beautiful, his plain features simply didn't warrant it. Whatever compliments he'd received (when truthful), pertained to his wit or skill. 

No, he wasn't the beautiful one. That distinction belonged to the Hebitian-built alien busy unraveling him. Long fingers trailed down Garak's raised arms, making him groan into the kiss. It took surprisingly little time and fumbling for Subatoi to unfasten his tunic and then Garak was hit with colder air as his garment was pulled none too gently off his shoulders. 

There was no finesse to their movements (not that Garak had expected any), but the desire was blatant and consuming. It felt strange to taste another's tongue in this manner, but Garak found it was growing on him. 

Perhaps Subatoi wasn't the only xenophile in the room.

Garak shrugged out of his shirt completely, letting it fall to the ground. A mechanic getting down and dirty with an alien wouldn't care about the state of his clothes, so Garak pushed it out of his mind. Sometimes he couldn't tell where his imagined persona began and where his real self ended. Who wanted this? The mechanic or the operative? 

It didn't matter. Not when the doctor stepped back to take him in, warm hands trailing up the ridges of his arms, from wrist to shoulder. 

"You don't need all this, Doctor. I assure you, I'm quite ready." 

Subatoi looked at him like he'd said something patently absurd.

"Hasn't anyone taken their time with you, Garak?"

What was that supposed to mean? 

"You should be properly savored," the doctor continued with conviction, "scale by scale; inch by inch… To do any less would be a tragic waste." 

Was this some human fetish? 

"Is there anywhere you would _like_ me to touch you?" Subatoi asked and Garak wondered whether it was a sign that the doctor truly had no idea how to please a Cardassian and was trying to obfuscate the fact, or something else. 

This was an opportunity, Garak realized. He could ask for anything, any depraved and strange act a Cardassian would never consent to, and the human would be none the wiser. It was very appealing. 

What would he even ask for? What would Garak consent to having done to him? 

There was one thing...a titillating act only whispered about, rumored to be incredibly pleasurable, except no self-respecting Cardassian would ask for it, let alone perform it. Doing it yourself was already considered naughty enough. Stories claimed that certain courtesans were willing to perform it...for a hefty price. It was the only taboo in Cardassian sexual practices. 

Not that a human could possibly know that. 

The Central Command's body-altering techniques were inferior to those developed by the Order. The odds of them being capable of disguising one of their witless militant goons as human were slim. Asking to be touched _there_ would outrage any Cardassian, even an Order operative.

It was a perfect test to assuage his lingering suspicions. 

Playfully, he took Subatoi's dominant hand and directed it to his forehead. 

"Touch me here," he said firmly, like this was a perfectly reasonable request and not something that would have him branded as a deviant. 

Subatoi's expression didn't as much as flicker. Garak waited with bated breath, wondering what the effect would be like. Doing this with an alien might produce... _interesting_ results. 

A smooth fingertip traced the contours of his Sky, what the Jories derogatorily referred to as a spoon. How unimaginative! Not to mention insulting. Oh, but even tracing the rim was making him shudder, and when the very tip of Subatoi's finger dipped into his Sky, the world exploded into a maelstrom of swirling color.

He fought to keep his eyes open so he could observe the effects, but his knees went weak and his legs trembled, threatening to buckle underneath him. 

Garak could see his electromagnetic field ricocheting against the doctor's, crimson red sparking, swirling and melding into turquoise in a dazzling display similar to the show of light on Cardassia's poles, something he'd only seen on recordings. 

"Ah, ah-" he moaned, incapable of hiding his wonder, fingers grasping soft shoulders in a desperate bid to keep himself upright. 

There was but a moment of reprieve, his vision clearing, when the index finger was replaced with a thumb and he cried out, his muscles spasming and relinquishing control. He everted another fraction, thighs trembling, and closed his eyes against the onslaught. 

The stories didn't do it justice, they were lies - pale and pathetic echoes unworthy of the real thing. 

Garak could feel another hand touching his neck with gentle caresses, but could only focus on the soft pad of the doctor's thumb pressing into the dip on his forehead, circling in a continuous, utterly maddening caress. With trembling and increasingly uncoordinated hands, Garak fumbled with the fastenings of his trousers, trying to free himself. Everting into one's clothes was quite painful. 

"Shall I help you with that?" The human inquired huskily, making Garak's eyes snap open in a desperate plea. 

If he stopped, Garak felt he might actually collapse. Or scream. 

"Nnh, n-no, don't-!" He actually pleaded, appalled at his lack of control. 

Subatoi nodded and kept on touching him, and Garak yanked and twisted the fabric of his trousers until they split at the seam the way they were supposed to, requiring very little effort to slip down his hips, just enough to-

With a drawn out groan, he everted fully, member slapping against his Deep Spring with a wet sound, slick dripping down the flaring ridges of his shaft. 

The human hissed on an indrawn breath, "Oh my God-", making Garak wonder what kind of deity was worthy of being called out to in a moment such as this.

"Garak…" The gasp of his name did what the rest of the stimulation failed to do, and he convulsed, moaning insensate as he spilled in a great uncontrollable gush; rain splattering his ventral ridge, reaching as far up as his left clavicle. 

With a feeble grunt, his legs finally gave out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's more where that came from!


	8. Bumps on the Road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, still spicy!

"Whoa! Hey, I got you! I got you…" Julian said bemusedly, worry and wonder intermingling as Garak's legs buckled like a baby foal's. He halted the Cardassian's descent and picked him up, one arm wrapped tightly around the pearly-speckled torso, and the other under the trouser-clad knees. 

Garak should be heavier, really, what with being dead weight at the moment, but Julian marveled at the fact he could lift the young man without much effort. 

Julian carried his dazed lover to the bed and deposited him gently on the soft (if lamentably lumpy) mattress.

Overcome with tenderness, he kissed Garak's cheek and got up in search of a towel. He gave it a rinse in hot water and wrung it out.

When he crossed the room, back to his bedside, Julian couldn't help but appreciate the way Garak lay sprawled over the muted green covers. If he squinted, he could almost imagine the Cardassian lying in a field of grass somewhere, unguarded - basking in the sun.

"Everything all right there?" He asked gently and got an incoherent grumble in return. 

With a soft chuckle, he sat on the edge of the bed and started cleaning Garak's chest with gentle swipes of steaming cloth. Garak yelped, eyes flying open in suspicion, frame taut and poised for retaliation, and Julian spoke soothingly.

"I thought you might be more comfortable clean." 

Garak's eyes narrowed. "Why would you do that?"

How could he tell Garak what was on his mind? That he was feeling responsible? That he had the urge to take care of him, be gentle with him? 

Garak wouldn't believe him.

Julian shrugged. "You could always stay dirty if you prefer…"

Garak snatched the hot towel out of Julian's hand and scrubbed himself with more force than necessary. Julian looked at the still-flushed ridges extending down Garak's arms and torso, noting that the ugly purple bruising on his ribs seemed greatly diminished. 

"I'm glad the swelling's gone down. Does it hurt when you move?"

Garak dropped the towel on the covers next to him and regarded Julian with a remarkably clearer gaze. 

"No, I'm fine." 

Julian smiled at him, just a small quirk of lips. Even if Garak was feeling wretched, there's no way he would tell Julian. 

"Is that what usually happens? I mean, with you...you know..." He asked, still slightly perplexed by Garak's extreme reaction to having his spoon touched. 

Garak averted his eyes, saying nothing and Julian got the impression that the young man was embarrassed, and knew he'd just put Garak on the spot by remarking on it. 

"I'm kind of jealous, really. I don't think I ever had an orgasm powerful enough to bring me to my knees…" 

That seemed to do the trick, Garak smirking up at him, once more at ease. 

"Maybe I could help you with that," Garak offered suggestively, "show you what you've been missing…" 

Julian's ardor reignited once more. He knew exactly what he'd been missing all along. Garak's climax had been so explosive, so overwhelming, that Julian marveled at their sexual compatibility. He'd clearly done _something_ right, and he wanted to do it again. 

"By all means," Julian purred, leaning in for a kiss that seemed to throw Garak for a loop before he relaxed and brought a hand to Julian's neck. 

Kissing Garak was otherworldly - the young spy kissed like it was illicit, like every moment was stolen and thrilling, and Julian fell into the fervent rhythm with absurd ease. He didn't believe in fate, but he did believe that some people fit better together than others, and by God, were he and Garak a marvelous fit - slotting together like perfectly aligned pieces of crystal. 

Garak's palms roamed his skin and Julian could do naught but moan his appreciation into the eager warm mouth. They clutched at each other with mounting desperation, fingers sliding and grasping; flushed skin against feverish scales. 

In a bid to get closer, Garak had climbed into his lap, pressing into him wantonly, rubbing against _all_ the right places. Julian had no idea how Garak had expected their little tête-à-tête to go, and after what had happened, he had no idea what was even on the table. Was Garak at all familiar with human anatomy? Or was he expecting Julian to- 

"Off," Garak demanded, breaking their kiss to tug at Julian's trousers.

"Impatient, aren't we?" Julian smiled against a pouting mouth. 

"It's in the way." Garak groused, trying for reasonable, yet merely managing to come across as adorably petulant. 

"In the way of what, exactly?" Julian teased and Garak gave him a scathing look, the precursor to the perfected exasperated glare he was used to. 

"In the way of me riding whatever it is you're hiding in there." 

Julian choked at the audacious offer, staring at the slowly spreading grin on Garak's face. Not one to back down from a challenge, he caressed a path up Garak's still (somehow) clothed thighs. 

"Strip for me, Garak." 

Julian realized Cardassian and Human connotations of the word must differ, for Garak chose the most expedient and least seductive way to strip imaginable. 

"Do you rush through everything you do?" Julian asked before he got thoroughly distracted by the results of Garak's haste. 

The trousers lay crumpled around beautifully scaled ankles, translucent strings of what Julian presumed to be natural lubrication stretching between Garak's swollen seam and the fabric, a thicker strand or two sticking to the smooth pale skin of his thighs. Spellbound, Julian watched Garak pull off his shoes and trousers unceremoniously (no underwear, why did he assume there would be any?), and gawked at the now fully nude form sitting on the edge of his bed. 

How could anyone be so beautiful? Scales shadowed in the muted light, darkened ridges contrasting gorgeously against the pale skin; slick proof of Garak's arousal dampening his bedcover - it stole Julian's breath. 

Garak was looking at him with a feral glint in his eyes, his smile sharper, revealing teeth he was very unused to seeing on _his_ Garak. 

Was this Garak his now, as well? 

Keen blue eyes roamed Julian's body appreciatively, coming to rest on his lap. 

"I wanna see," Garak demanded. "I wonder, is it as smooth and soft as the rest of you?"

Julian felt heat rising to his face. Was smoothness appealing to Cardassians? Did the texture of his skin drive Garak wild, just like the feel of swollen ridges made Julian feel heady? 

Julian set about slowly removing his boots, and then unfastened his trousers, Garak's burning gaze sending prickles against his skin. He was careful and deliberate in his movements, well aware of the irony. He used to be just as bad as Garak, always hasty to get to the main event, ignoring the potential hidden in a more...measured approach. Sure, he could take Garak hard and fast, but he didn't want to squander this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity on a quick shag. 

He loved Garak.

The man might not know that, but to Julian, it changed everything. He wanted to savor it, prolong it - make it last. Luxuriate in it for as long as possible before being whisked away into his own time, where Garak was distant and unavailable; perpetually busy rebuilding Cardassia. Not to mention in a relationship with one Kelas Parmak (if rumors were to be believed, and Garak himself hinting at it quite heavily). 

Julian was jealous. 

Jealous of a doctor who got to be by Garak's side, helping him achieve his grand design for his beloved homeland's future. 

_It should have been me_ , Julian thought in merciless recrimination. Yet, here he had a Garak free of the man's heavy future. _This_ Garak lived for the moment, unmindful of the consequences. His Garak lacked such openness and spontaneity. It must have been beaten out of him. Julian's heart wrenched at the thought. 

Once his trousers were off, he folded them sloppily and placed them by his pillow. When he chanced a look at Garak, he groaned at the sight of pale thighs spread open, glistening invitingly. 

"You aren't getting shy on me, are you?" Garak teased, pulling Julian out of his head. 

"We'll see who's shy when I fill you." Julian said unblinkingly, allowing his desire to spill over. 

"That better be a promise…" Garak rumbled, leaning closer. 

Trying not to pant, Julian shed his briefs and flung them on the pillow. Garak was staring at his crotch with undisguised fascination. 

"That's…" Garak trailed off, right hand twitching.

"You can touch," Julian murmured. " _Gently_."

"It looks so...frail." Garak remarked, trailing a fingertip down Julian's shaft. 

"Is this the part where you reassert your species' superiority over mine by pointing out how unprotected and easily breakable I look?" Julian quipped. 

"I clearly don't have to, you seem to be doing my job for me." 

Garak was such an unbearable brat sometimes! With a faint growl, Julian twined his hand in Garak's long hair and pulled him in for a bruising kiss. After a moment of fumbling and pulling, Garak settled over Julian's lap, straddling him. 

It felt surreal to have a trim, deadly young Garak in his arms. Julian couldn't help but grasp his waist, his hips, dig fingers into the subtle curving ridges along the outside of Garak's firm thighs. Julian nipped and kissed Garak's collarbones, licking the gently sloping spoon shape on his chest. It made Garak buck and shudder. Julian breathed into the indentation, feeling the hot moisture against his lips and kissed - full lips, swollen and greedy, filling the small space. Garak's fingers were biting into his shoulders, and Julian grasped his thighs possessively. 

He wanted everything. To give, as well as take. Whatever pleasure there was to be had, he'd wring it from Garak and drown them both in it. 

Smooth and warm slick dripped and dribbled over Julian's thighs, Garak taking great delight in rubbing and sliding against them. It was messy, but incredibly erotic. 

"Are you ready for me, Garak?" Julian muttered huskily, knowing he probably wouldn't last long. 

"Yes, ah-" Garak babbled, incoherent with want, "hurry up-!" He let out a long, low whine when Julian nudged against his impossibly slickened and invitingly parted sheath. 

Swollen ridges resisted the intrusion, designed to accommodate the tapered tip of a Cardassian erection, and Julian pressed slightly more insistently, choking out a gasp when Garak did his work for him; sinking down. 

It felt incredible, yet Julian monitored his partner's face for any signs of discomfort or distress, unwilling to hurt Garak in their exuberance. 

"You look like it hurts," Julian observed, alarmed, trying to lift Garak off of him. 

"Stop moving!" Garak groaned, panting, his sheath constricting around Julian in a maddeningly delicious way. "Ugh, why are you so big, fuck-"

Julian, wisely, chose to remain silent. Garak squirmed on top of him, trying to get comfortable and failing. 

“Garak, please, I don’t want to hurt you,” Julian entreated, softening in his panic.

“Oh, that’s better,” Garak said breathlessly, rotating his hips, and Julian had no idea what he’d done differently, but if it worked for Garak…

As soon as he was back to full hardness, Garak whined. “Go back to how it was!”

“Back to what?” Julian halted, waiting for an explanation and Garak growled above him, vocal in his displeasure.

“Less...big!”

Julian flushed, realizing at once what was the issue. 

“Garak, I… I’m not sure I can, not voluntarily… If I’m excited...it gets hard. When I got worried I was hurting you, I...it automatically…”

Garak stilled, frowning down at him. “So...if you’re enjoying yourself-”

“I’ll end up hurting you. And that will kill my excitement.” Julian finished.

Garak seemed to ponder that for a moment.

“Look, Garak… There’s plenty of other things we could do, we don’t have to do it like this.”

“You’re right…” Garak said contemplatively and then seemed to brighten up. “I’ll turn around!”

Julian wondered whether the different angle would solve the issue, but got terribly distracted by Garak’s wonderfully ornate back, large scales of his neck slowly reducing in size the lower they reached, petering out almost entirely near the base of his spine, giving way to firm skin. The black cascade of hair rested against Garak’s shoulder blades. Julian brushed it aside carefully, admiring its sheen. Holding Garak’s waist gently, Julian kissed his back, feeling the outline of the scales with his lips. They were scalding against his skin. 

“I’ll be still,” Julian vowed, “you control the angle. Only you can know what you’re comfortable with.”

Garak made a sound that Julian interpreted as an affirmative grunt and lowered himself slowly. This time Garak was more careful, swiveling his hips, testing the fit. For his part, Julian tried not to be overwhelmed by the slick warmth enveloping him half-way, the textured rings of Garak’s sheath rippling and squeezing around him. Watching Garak’s thighs quiver with effort, punctuated with the occasional soft moan, tested Julian’s self-control, but he remained true to his word and didn’t move the lower part of his body. His hands, however, roamed the expanse of firm skin and smooth scale, taking extra care when skimming across Garak’s likely still slightly tender ribs. Garak’s stomach was firm, twitching slightly under his touch.

“Lower…” Garak murmured pleadingly and Julian obliged, searching for the spoon shape he’d spied at the bottom of the ventral ridge. When his fingers brushed against the small protrusion, Garak let out a garbled, keening cry of pleasure.

Julian lost himself in the effort, fingers of one hand ghosting against swollen ridges, while the other was busy with swift, circular movements to the indentation nestled just above Garak’s pubic bone. Panting, incoherent moans filled the room, and the sweet scent of Garak’s slick permeated the air. Unlike human fluids, these didn’t dry out as easily or as fast, their viscosity providing a wonderful glide. 

Despite not moving, Julian could feel the pressure mounting; Garak’s pleasure enough for them both.

Julian wanted to warn Garak that he was not going to last, when a fluttery, quickening ripple surrounding him pushed him over the edge, Garak letting out a rumbling moan as Julian spent himself.

Panting, Julian kissed Garak’s back and asked, “Did you orgasm?”

“Oh yes,” Garak purred languidly, his voice raspy and low.

Julian sighed in relief. “That’s great.”

It _was_ great because he was beat, lethargic from pleasure and the heat. His stamina may be augmented, but his refractory period was not.

Garak hummed and got up, strolling towards the sonic shower without further comment, his movements annoyingly graceful. If their positions had been reversed, Julian was fairly certain he’d be walking very gingerly instead of sauntering. 

When the shower turned on with a loud whir, Julian collapsed onto the covers and raked a hand through his hair. 

Was this it? Would Garak take a shower and just...leave?

Julian didn’t want him to go, even though he was aware Garak realistically had little reason to stay beyond this point.

Flinging a forearm over his eyes, Julian sighed.

_How will I ever look my_ _Garak in the eye again?_


	9. Fixing the Shower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, still smutty.

Garak stood in the ramshackle shower, ignoring the abrasive buzzing against his scutes. While he wasn't overly familiar with Ferengi technology, he was pretty sure he could fix the blasted thing with the small universal tool he always carried in his pocket. But that was hardly a priority at the moment. 

A much more interesting thing or rather,  _ person _ , currently occupied his mind. 

Garak had always assumed that staying in control meant never slipping up, never faltering, and yet, this human managed to retain the upper hand despite relinquishing his control over the situation. No older Cardassian man would have allowed Garak such freedom. If he was uncomfortable with anything, there would be a power struggle which the younger partner was invariably expected to lose. To be given such leeway, such... _ agency _ was almost unthinkable. 

A proper Cardassian would enjoy their submission, and even Garak, defiant as he was, found considerable pleasure in it.

This was why Subatoi's approach seemed such an aberration. The doctor seemed to take pleasure from delivering it,  _ witnessing _ it. 

It felt almost indulgent, in a way, to take pleasure without giving much in return. Maybe this was simply a human peculiarity? Who knew? There were species out there who could get off on smell alone (Subatoi smelled like salted  _ te'mal  _ flowers, one of uncle Enabran's favorite snacks which Garak used to pilfer from the kitchen as a child, much to Mila's consternation). 

The human tasted... peculiar. Sure, there was the lingering aroma of cheap synthehol, but underneath it… It defied explanation. Something...earthy and moist. He'd never tasted anything like it, so lacked a basis for comparison, but the fact remained that he'd enjoyed it.  He hummed in satisfaction, feeling the after-effects of his several orgasms, tingling pleasantly through his ridges. 

In any other case, he would be more than satisfied by the results of a nice tryst, but now...he wanted  _ more _ . 

A good climax usually left him refreshed and alert, thrumming with energy. Now, he still felt mildly on edge, like he should mate again to get rid of the itch. 

That was new. 

A good Cardassian fuck had a longer foreplay outside the bedroom/storeroom/available space, and once both parties ascertained compatibility in the conversational arena, the deed itself tended to be quick and explosive. Garak enjoyed the physicality of it all, the raw energy and passion, and while this encounter was obviously different, it hadn't left him dissatisfied. 

That difference, though, eluded definition. Maybe humans liked things slow; maybe their sexual release built in some other fashion. 

This slow exploration the human seemed to favor...perhaps it had its merits. His mind flashed to deft fingers stimulating his Sky, and he could feel the muscles holding him sheathed tightening.  He wanted more of that and wondered if the doctor might oblige him once more… The trick was not to appear too invested. 

"Everything all right in there?" Subatoi's smooth voice reached him in the shower, and when Garak turned, he realized the human was still naked, observing him in a casual pose, leaning against the doorway, his slim arms crossed over his chest. 

"I don't know why you were complaining, this setting is quite satisfactory."

Subatoi laughed, his arms falling away. 

"I could probably fix it for you, you know?" Garak offered, displaying his skill to the human and stifling the little voice in his mind trying to tell him this was unnecessary and wasted on the alien. 

Subatoi's pleasant face revealed surprise. "You...would do that for me? You don't have to..."

Garak rolled his eyes at the inane comment.  "Have you seen this thing? I'm a mechanic and I cringed when I stepped in. I'd be doing myself a favor."

Subatoi's eyes glinted with pleasure, his voice teasing, "Oh? Planning on using my shower again?" 

Garak purred, happy to have such an adept sparring partner. "At least once more…" 

"Greedy little thing, aren't you?" Subatoi drawled in a way that made Garak wet. 

He was tempted to pull the doctor in with him and start nibbling on his neck. 

Subatoi  _ did _ have a lovely neck. 

Instead, he sighed and turned the shower off. Subatoi watched him walk out, remaining where he was. Garak found his pants and rummaged through the pockets, pulling out the compact tool. He gripped it in his fingers, wondering how to proceed after fixing the shower. Perhaps he could suggest they test it together? 

Garak sauntered over, pleased to note Subatoi's appreciative gaze on him.

"Now, let's see what died in there…" 

As he was unscrewing the access hatch, he heard the doctor muttering behind him, "Never had a naked repair-man before."

Garak grinned, half-turning. "You had me already."

The human was quiet for a moment before his eyes smoldered. 

"I would gladly have you again."

Garak turned back around, trying to hide his gloating. It felt nice to be desired so openly. The human was so easy to manipulate.

"Maybe I could be persuaded…" Garak let the offer linger, and pulled off the hatch, taking in the machine's innards. 

"How bad is it?" Subatoi asked, and Garak couldn't help but laugh.

It was obvious nobody had maintained the stupid shower in over a decade. This level of decay was usual for such long-time neglect. Garak unfolded his tool and searched for the source of the problem, starting with the pressurizer. It took some fiddling, but soon enough, Garak was turning it back on to test it, flipping the dial around. 

He startled when a pair of warm, wiry arms wrapped around his middle.

"Mmmmm...nice…" Subatoi murmured against his neck, soft lips ghosting against his ridges. 

Did he mean the shower or… Garak wasn't sure. 

Be that as it may, he re-sealed the hatch and turned around in the human's arms. He was greeted with a look of gratitude and something softer that didn't make much sense.

"You should have several settings available now."

Subatoi looked at him like he'd rather explore  _ his _ settings, and while Garak was not in any way against that, he knew he had to be somewhere else in three time units. 

It was plenty of time for another round...or two. 

When Subatoi leaned in, Garak was ready for the kiss, falling into the languid rhythm easily. 

"Mmmm…" Subatoi hummed against his lips and gave him one last peck. "Thank you, Garak. This feels much better."

"The shower or me?" Garak asked cheekily, provoking a gentle laugh. 

"Both," Subatoi purred and leaned forward to give Garak's neck ridges a nibble. The human's teeth weren't especially sharp, but it was about the consistent pressure anyways. It was pleasant, but left Garak with the desire to spar.

"Not that I'm complaining, but… There's the matter of payment…"

Subatoi sucked on one of his scutes, and disengaged with a lingering, moist kiss. 

"What do I owe you?" 

Garak made a ponderous noise. "Oh...three slips of latinum should do it." 

Subatoi grinned, eyes agleam with delight, before he affected a horribly unconvincing pout.

"I'm afraid I don't have that many, Mr Garak…"

"What do you have, then?"

"Well…" Subatoi murmured coyly (it really didn't suit him). "I  _ do  _ have some Delavian chocolates I got in payment from a patient yesterday…"

When Garak didn't immediately respond, Subatoi's eyes widened.  "Have you ever... had Delavian chocolates?"

Garak scoffed, looking at the human as if he was daft.  "Service class don't really have access to expensive imports." 

Subatoi looked crestfallen for a moment before his expression cleared. "Well, I think it's time we amended that." 

Garak had no time to protest, the human deftly turning the shower off, and pulling him away by the hand. 


	10. Delavian Chocolates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're still at it.

Garak was sprawled out on the bed on his back, bracing himself on his elbows, staring up at the human straddling him. Subatoi’s long, dexterous fingers were busy dismantling the wrapping on a small rectangular box marked with unfamiliar alien script. The chocolates, when they emerged, turned out to be small, thin rectangles of a color not too dissimilar to the shade of the human’s skin. 

“It’s delicious, I promise; just let it sit on your tongue and dissolve.”

Garak wondered why he was allowing Subatoi to feed him an unknown substance without even a token protest. He was taking stock of pulsing veins running visibly under that soft alien epidermis, calculating how fast he could inflict a tiny nick before the doctor even realized he was bleeding to death. If he added some pleasure into the mix, he could kill the man before the other even noticed anything amiss. It was gratifying to know he had options, but...it seemed kind of wasteful to kill a creature so pleasant. 

So, Garak opened his mouth and let Subatoi feed him the confection, licking the retreating fingers lightly. 

Subatoi’s eyes smoldered, his voice darkening with lust.  “Do as I said.”

Garak’s first impulse was defiance. Anyone bold enough to be giving him commands better be more qualified than Garak himself. He’d never responded well to those above him that he perceived to be fools. Logically, he knew he was supposed to obey regardless, but if he didn’t respect them...obeying seemed like debasing himself. It prickled the edges of his pride. Especially lately within the Order… He was no longer a probe, but was still treated like he was an inferior. Well, when he ascended the ranks, he would show them all!

Soft fingertips playing idly with his Earth brought him out of his musings, and he realized he was dutifully suckling on the piece of chocolate in his mouth.

At first it didn’t taste like anything spectacular, but as his saliva began to dissolve the confection, the subtle bitterness spread within his mouth most pleasantly. There was a hint of salt and a note of burnt sugar.

“Close your eyes, Garak…” Subatoi instructed, his fingers outlining Garak’s clavicles as he gently explored every scale. “Just focus on the taste…”

Lulled by the almost hypnotic quality to the doctor’s voice, Garak let his eyes flutter shut.

This was ill-advised. Relinquishing control to someone he’d just met, allowing him to touch his Earth, and feed him delicious bitters, and-

A dissolute moan escaped him as Subatoi’s other hand reached his Deep Spring, warm fingers tracing the outline before dipping inside with a firm caress; only to brush outwards with a feather-light touch. 

“You’re so beautiful like this…” The human murmured so quietly that Garak barely caught it, busy expelling little moans and rumbles of pleasure. 

Garak felt like he was floating, almost like his soul was detaching; reaching for the higher realm some superstitious Cardassians believed in. He felt tingly all over, and  _ warm _ , like he was resting in one of the communal hot pools back in the Torr sector of Cardassia City. 

“So responsive…” Subatoi murmured, caressing his sensitive spots with maddening and subtle precision, rubbing in insistent circles.

Garak’s sheath was clenching and unclenching, lubricant seeping onto the fabric of the bedcover, and he couldn’t help but remember the confusing sensation of having something entirely too smooth inside him, slipping deeper than it should because his insides couldn’t grip _,_ couldn’t _hold_ , couldn’t **_trap_** like they were supposed, and indeed, _designed_ to. Subatoi’s thorn was gently invasive - just like Federation diplomacy. 

“I never asked...what do you call these lovely spots?”

Garak mewled in distress when the human’s rhythm faltered for a moment. 

Subatoi crooned softly, “It’s all right, I won’t stop...I was just curious…”

Garak was too far gone for rational thought; floating in a weird, mindless state. It didn’t feel normal. It almost felt like being drugged before one of the Order’s training sessions. They would slip them something weird and test their responses. Sometimes, they would be interrogated. Other times, made to perform their duties in a mind-altered state. This felt similar, but not quite the same.

“Did you...drug me?” Garak all but whined, knowing he was close - one more pass of fingers over his Deep Spring and he would gush, soaking the bed linen that was clearly not designed to withstand Cardassian sex.

The fingers stopped altogether as Subatoi cried out an indignant - “What? Of course not!” 

Garak’s eyes opened and he flashed an angry glare Subatoi’s way.

“If you stop now, I’ll clobber you with my tool.”

Subatoi blinked, covered his mouth,  _ snorted _ , and started laughing.

Garak didn’t think he was being unreasonable, being denied an orgasm was considered bad form. 

When Subatoi kept on laughing (giggling, really, the stupid twit was  _ giggling _ ), Garak’s eyes narrowed. He was  _ this  _ close to shoving the human off of him, when the explanation finally materialized. 

“I’m sorry, it’s just-” Subatoi kept quivering with laughter, “humanity has some...rather  _ colorful  _ words for, uh, male genitalia. And you used one of them - by accident, I assume.”

Garak gaped slightly, incredulous.  “ _ Tool?  _ Really?”

Subatoi laughed again, the corners of his eyes creasing. “Oh, that’s far from the worst, I assure you.”

“Why would you...that's so  _ bizarre _ .” Garak said, confused. Why would anyone call it that?

“Some men even name theirs specifically.”

Garak was unable to conceal his disgust. “Dare I ask what you named yours? No-I don’t wanna know.”

The human chuckled and said reassuringly, “Don’t worry, I don’t call mine anything. Well, I guess I use the medical term for it, when I need to.”

Garak quirked an eyeridge skeptically.

“Fine!” The doctor grinned in a charming manner, “Where I’m from, it’s called a  _ prick _ .”

Garak frowned.  _ Prick?  _ That was remarkably similar to-

“Why, what do Cardassians call theirs?”

“Which part?” Garak asked reasonably. Their genitalia wasn’t so...simple. 

“Uh, the part that...erects?”

“Everts.” Garak corrected, “It’s an eversion.”

“Really?” Subatoi seemed thrilled at the information. “Is there a more colloquial term for it?”

Garak debated whether to say it or not. He could always lie, it wasn’t like the human would know the difference, but he didn’t see the harm in revealing it.

“Thorn.”

Subatoi’s lips parted, and Garak took him in. Strange, slightly coarse fuzz on his face, intelligent green eyes, and sinewy lines all the way down. There was no excess on the man. Almost like he was sculpted, made to be perfect, without a single wasted curve - sanded and polished like a monument. Garak thought the man should look more frail, more breakable, as his physique revealed him to be, but there was an image superimposed over it, of hidden strength and unknowable depths. 

“Can I taste your thorn?” Subatoi asked, all giddiness gone. 

“Why would you want to?” Garak blurted out, cursing himself for being honest. He should have just kept his mouth shut.

“Uh, some humans enjoy it being done to them, as well as returning the favor…”

“You  _ enjoy  _ having your eversion licked?”

Another smile.

“Erection. And yes. Also sucked. Feels very good.”

Garak wondered who could possibly fit  _ that  _ thing into their mouth. Was it meant to be swallowed? Was it  _ expected _ to be? In any case, it didn’t seem terribly practical. Or sanitary. 

Well...they  _ had  _ just taken a shower...

“I’m guessing that’s a no, then?” Subatoi prodded gently, reminding Garak he hadn’t responded to the original query. 

“Labor camps are full of the well-meaning…” Garak shrugged.

“What?” Subatoi seemed confused by his use of idiom.

“I mean, go ahead. You’re the raging xenophile here. I’ll try not to be offended when you have to spit it out.”

“Why? Does it taste weird?”

Garak rolled his eyes in exasperation.  “Of course it tastes  _ weird.  _ It’s lubricant. It’s not supposed to taste good.”

“Is it awfully sour?” Subatoi asked, slightly alarmed.

“What?? No!” 

“Really bitter, then?”

Garak sighed and rolled his eyes. Again.

“If it  _ were  _ bitter, Cardassians would bottle it and sell it.”

Subatoi sputtered. 

Deciding to put the doctor out of his misery, Garak stated plainly, “It’s sweet. Nauseatingly so. No Cardassian in their right mind would put their mouth anywhere near it.”

“Sweet?” Subatoi looked like he’d just been promoted to Legate. “Really?”

The excitement should have been disturbing, frankly, and if he ever saw a Cardassian wearing that look of unbridled glee, he would reach for his disruptor immediately and vaporize them, but since it was not… Maybe humans had different tastes?

“Do humans like sweet things?” Garak ventured carefully. 

Subatoi immediately launched into an enthusiastic explanation.

“Of course we do! It’s an evolutionary remnant from the times our ancestors were hunter-gatherers, sweet things were favored foods because they packed a lot of energy. Now, when we have replicators on every corner, we have to be careful not to over-indulge!”

Garak had a pretty good idea about what Subatoi wanted to indulge in next. 

Of all things, he managed to find a thorn-licker! Ridiculous. It was one of those insults that low-level military and slum-dwellers bandied about; the implication that one had tastes for something vastly unpalatable for the everyday citizen. Figures he would actually go and find an alien who had a taste for the stuff. 

It was deeply disturbing. 

“So... could I?” Subatoi asked earnestly. “Try some, I mean?”

Frankly, Garak wasn’t in the mood anymore. His libido had suffered after he was denied the release that had been building so promisingly, and now he felt grumpy. 

“What’s wrong? Did I...I insisted too much, didn’t?” Subatoi signed and rolled off of him, landing to Garak’s left, displacing the box of chocolates still lying there.

Garak was greeted by an openly contrite look. Subatoi looked positively wretched.

“Look...I’m sorry, Garak. I don’t know enough about Cardassian customs and taboos not to make stupid mistakes. I won’t ask again, I promise.”

Garak wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so he let the silence stretch.

“I never wanted to make you uncomfortable.” Subatoi murmured in a strange voice, then collapsed onto his back, staring at the ceiling with an expression that suggested a hefty dose of self-recrimination.

It didn’t make any sense. Who acted this way? It was so... _ erratic _ ! 

Any lingering assumptions about the man being an enemy agent evaporated. He was way too open to make an effective spy. If Garak’s discomfort made Subatoi feel guilty, there’s no way he’d have the stomach to actually do anything truly gut-churning which the job occasionally demanded.

“I’m not...uncomfortable.” Garak admitted.

Subatoi gave him a small, grateful smile.  “You are.” 

Garak was about to argue, when a soft finger landed on his lips, effectively shushing him.

“I had you writhing under my fingertips, scales flushed dark, mewling with pleasure. Now, your scales have gone pale, and you are no longer relaxed. I’d have to be a complete idiot not to note your discomfort.”

Garak sighed. That’s what he got for getting involved with a doctor. They were too fucking perceptive about matters of the flesh. 

“I know you’ll probably leave now, disappointed, and you’d have every right. For what it’s worth, I’m really sorry.” Subatoi said softly, and caressed Garak’s cheek so gently, he felt the touch all the way down to his knees. 

Disappointed?

After being touched into several orgasms and sheer mindlessness? Was this human stupid?

“You could always make it up to me…” Garak said with what he hoped passed for genuine coyness. His instructors did tell him he had too distinct of a smirk ( _ punchable,  _ some of his teammates said). Maybe humans had a thing for smug? Too late now to think about it.

It was almost ridiculous, the way Subatoi’s expressive eyes went from utter dejection to hopefulness, and then a heated look that made Garak’s seam twitch in anticipation. 

“Another piece of that chocolate would be a nice start.” He suggested, looking the doctor’s way.

Subatoi positively  _ beamed _ at him. 


	11. Getting Back on Garak's Good Side

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to stop them, I really did. They never listen!

One chocolate turned into five, and after being teased by Garak for about fifteen minutes straight (really, Julian was lucky to have held out as long as he had, who the hell knew that watching someone eat glacially slowly could be erotic - their lunches together certainly hadn’t had that effect on him before), he buckled and openly begged Garak for permission to kiss him.

The brat had the audacity to smirk at him, and lay there, arm tucked beneath his head, looking infuriatingly pleased with himself. 

“Don’t be a tease,” Julian chided Garak, hoping his desperation wasn’t showing. 

“Oh? Where has all of that assertiveness gone?” Garak inquired, with the faux perplexed look Julian knew all-too well. 

“It’s being curbed by my sense of propriety, thank you very much.” Julian grumbled.

Garak seemed to almost choke on the latest piece of chocolate, his laughter unrestrained and maybe a touch hysterical.

“Propriety, doctor?” Garak chuckled, after stashing the chocolate into his left cheek to prevent further choking, “I’m fairly certain that went right out the airlock when you nipped my jaw in public!”

“You did it first,” Julian pointed out, hoping he didn’t sound as petulant as he suspected he did. 

“You grabbed my wrist!” Garak shot back, clearly incredulous.

“I was trying not to let you seduce me! What was I supposed to do, let you fondle my neck in front of the entire crowd?”

Garak grinned, returning the chocolate back onto his tongue and speaking with a minimum amount of slurring. “You failed then, on both counts.”

This kind of smugness merited swift retribution, in Julian’s opinion. The slightly darkened ridges were an encouraging sign. Well, if Garak wanted assertive, Julian would gladly oblige. 

“I haven’t even had a chance to try these chocolates yet…”

“There’s a few more in the box.” Garak said dismissively, barely paying attention to Julian.

It was rather perfect, really.

“That’s not  _ quite _ what I had in mind…” Julian said in a sultry voice and dragged a gentle, yet firm finger along the ridges adorning Garak’s jaw. The gentle gasp this elicited was intoxicating, and the blue eyes focusing on him gleamed with surprise and excited encouragement. 

Julian brushed his index against Garak’s barely parted lips, and trailed lower, applying gentle pressure to the delicately ridged chin.

“Open your mouth for me…”

Garak  _ shuddered _ underneath him, obeying with a breezy little whine. Julian held Garak’s jaw gently, leaning in for a brush of lips, followed by an open-mouthed kiss, and a few nips to gray lips. 

Perhaps he should have used these arguments to get  _ his  _ Garak to the Infirmary, they certainly seemed more effective! 

His fingers slipped into long black hair and he deepened the kiss, tasting the molten chocolate on Garak’s slightly skittish tongue. 

Oh, Julian liked kissing, but this went beyond that.  _ Far  _ beyond.

Having Garak like this, undulating beneath him like some beautiful naga, Julian was tempted to keep the man for himself. 

So what if Kelas had him? If Julian was given the chance to kiss  _ his _ Garak, would he get the same reaction? Leave Garak breathless and straining desperately into his touch? Could he persuade Garak to be  _ his _ instead?  It was immoral, he knew that - pursuing someone in a relationship, but... for how much longer could he suppress his wishes?

He needed this infuriating, writhing, elusive being in his life. 

It would be so easy to slip up and tell this Garak he was loved - to the point of delirium, but this was the wrong recipient. The object of his affections was several decades in the future, rebuilding Cardassia and none-the-wiser. 

Would he even have the courage to write Garak and tell him...ask him...if he still felt the way he described in his memoirs?

What if he was rebuffed?

Julian gripped the willing body in his arms, almost as if Garak was the one who could disappear without a trace - without a word. What guarantee did Julian have of not vanishing mid-kiss? Any second now he could be whisked away, leaving this Garak unsatisfied and with way too many questions.

Any kiss, any touch could be their last. And that possibility left Julian chilled to the bone. 

His touches were frenzied, desperate; caressing and scratching and grasping at ridges, all the while stealing the flavors from Garak’s responsive mouth, almost like he wanted to take Garak’s essence with him. 

When he invariably got back to his time,  _ this  _ Garak, the one actually responding to him - sublimating in his arms, would be irretrievably lost. 

Perhaps it never mattered which Garak it was, or would, or  _ could _ be - he would have wanted any of them, and loved  _ all  _ of them. 

“Garak-” Julian moaned into his mouth, hoping his desperation would be mistaken for passion. He prayed this younger man didn’t have enough experience to suss out the truth. The man’s first name tickled at the back of his mind, and danced at the tip of his tongue, swallowed repeatedly. He couldn’t say it without inviting disaster, so he chanted it in his mind, over and over, mingling with other dangerous confessions.

With a prolonged, nearly agonized whine, Garak everted. 

Operating on pure instinct, Julian reached down and grasped Garak’s slick eversion, fingers slipping over the two ridges that thickened towards the base, merging almost.  Garak let out a broken, keening moan. 

“Tell me how to touch you,” Julian demanded, wishing to bring Garak over the edge swiftly. 

“The-mnhh-the base-there, touch the-nh-” 

That was the last coherent instruction Julian got, and he focused on his task like his life depended on it.  He abandoned Garak’s mouth and observed the man unravel beneath him. 

Julian was so achingly hard, it would take so little-

Succumbing to selfishness, he grasped both of their erections in hand and watched Garak arch off the bed, his throat bared in a coarse yell. Julian wanted Garak to lose wherever restraint he had left, and have him howl his pleasure. One last push and they would both hurtle over the edge.

Julian reached out with his other hand and pressed his thumb into the prominent drop shape on Garak’s forehead, hoping it would have the same effect as the first time. Garak whimpered, mouth open in what looked like supplication, and Julian lost the last shred of self-control, spurting over Garak’s chest. Unable to keep his balance, his thighs quivered as he listed forward, afraid of crushing the body underneath him. He wondered whether he could work against his encroaching lassitude to bring Garak to completion, when he felt the gush of his release, pouring over clenching fingers. 

He relinquished his hold on Garak’s forehead and braced his hand against the bed, trying to hold himself vaguely upright. 

Garak was so gorgeous like this, breathing harshly, eyelashes fluttering, covered with a pale, faintly pearlescent blue liquid, and a small splash of white. Julian was surprised to note that some of his come had spattered as far as Garak’s neck and chin. 

“I’ve made a mess of you…” Julian observed between rushed breaths, admiring the sight before him. 

Was it strange to feel possessive of someone whom you’d painted with your release? Julian was half-tempted to smear his hand through it all and paint a stripe down every ridge on Garak’s body, so even if Garak showered, the memory would remain. 

Garak’s eyes cracked open, and he assessed the damage lazily. “So I see.”

Julian crawled off of Garak and lay next to him, finally paying attention to the absolute mess covering his right hand. If there ever was a chance to see if Garak had been full of shit when he claimed he tasted sweet, this was it. 

Feeling all kinds of naughty, he sucked off his thumb and groaned out an appropriate - “Fuck!”

Garak hadn’t been lying, but he’d definitely been exaggerating. It wasn’t  _ nauseatingly _ sweet, it was-

“Figures.” Garak stated and Julian felt called-out. 

Sheepishly, he admitted, “Look, Garak, you probably find this disgusting, but you taste amazing, and if you want me to retire to the shower so I can finish licking my hand off where you can’t see it, say the word and I’m gone.”

Garak snorted, looking too far gone to protest. 

“Do as you will, doctor. Even if you leave, I’ll probably be able to imagine it, so the damage has already been done.” 

Julian laughed. “I blame you for being delicious.”

“Well, I’m not tasting yours,” Garak complained, “no matter what you say.”

Julian failed to suppress a devious grin.  “Even if I told you it was bitter?”

Garak snorted, “Our tastes are clearly incompatible if you find  _ that _ delicious. I couldn’t trust any recommendation you made after this.”

“You liked the Delavian chocolates…” Julian pointed out.

Garak sighed. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Where’s your sense of adventure, Garak?” Julian jibed, popping his index into his mouth happily. 

If Cardassians bottled and sold it without telling the rest of the galaxy what it was, Julian would happily put a dollop over a nice slice of cake without worrying he’d be seen like a disgusting wretch. He wondered whether the taste changed with age…

“Fine!” Garak muttered grumpily and observed his chest critically, trying to find a spot uncontaminated by his own emissions. When he found it, he dipped the very tip of his finger in a tiny drop caught between his scutes. Julian watched in fascination as Garak wrestled with his decision, the primness of the tailor visible for the first time, as the finger hovered at the crease of reluctant grey lips. 

Julian had to fight really hard not to express just how cute it was to watch Garak opening his mouth haltingly, tongue peeking out almost shyly, tentatively licking his finger. It was beyond adorable to see Garak’s face scrunching up in expectation of disaster and then melting into surprise, which was suppressed quickly. 

“It’s terrible.” Garak blurted out, and Julian knew it to be a lie when the Cardassian chased the taste by licking his lips. 

“Sure it is.” Julian smirked and blithely continued licking his palm clean.

Garak was about to retort something bratty when a mechanical chirp filled the air. Julian knew that nothing he had in his quarters made that sound, at least not thus far. When he chanced a look at his debauched companion, he saw him hiss out something that sounded very much like a vicious expletive. 

Garak lowered his right hand off the bed, presumably trying to find the source of the insistent, pissed off chirping. He held up his tunic gingerly, trying not to dip the floppy sleeves into the mess on his chest, and managed admirably well. A moment later, his fingers delved into a pocket Julian hadn’t even noticed existed, and pulled out the shrieking device. 

“Be quiet!” Garak hissed, and at first Julian assumed this was aimed at the offending gadget, when a slightly familiar voice started blaring out of it. 

“Garak, get your scrawny-ridged neck back to the ship!”

If Cardassians could blush, Julian bet Garak would be turning into a rather fetching color by now. 

“Senal, I’m busy-” Garak’s voice croaked a bit, and he coughed to clear it out, “-negotiating a deal, you know these things take forever with Ferengi-”

Julian was trying his best to stay mum. 

“Uh-uh,” Senal snorted from the other side of the line. “Busy negotiating who gets it from the back, I bet.”

Julian let out an amused noise and slapped his (still wet and sticky) hand over his mouth. Garak was giving him a venomous glare for ruining his chance at bullshitting his way out of the situation.

“You have five metrics to take a shower and report back! I don’t wanna be smelling that human on your tail when I have to crawl through the ducts with you tomorrow!”

“Fine!” Garak growled, jabbing the device violently. “Joyless old harridan, has me working like a labor-camp detainee…”

Julian dissolved into a fit of giggles unapologetically, amused by the dagger-reinforced glare Garak was sending his way. 

“See what you’ve done? I told you to stay quiet!”

Julian snorted, air escaping noisily through his pursed lips. “Please, Garak; she knew the gig was up. One of your crew-mates probably saw us and reported to her.”

“Nobody  _ reports _ to her, they are just incurable gossips.”

“Cardassians are fond of a little drama, aren’t they?” Julian said lightly, and licked between the vee of his middle and ring fingers, careful to catch every last drop.

“That looks way less sexy than you think it does,” Garak grumbled. “Now pass me that stupid towel.”

“Oh?” Julian smiled, reaching for the discarded towel from earlier. It was still damp. “I wasn’t trying for sexy, you know. It’s all a product of your delightfully filthy imagination.”

Garak did crack a smile at that, seemingly despite himself and snatched the towel out of Julian’s hand. 

“The only filthy thing here is your xenophiliac tendencies, doctor. Sleeping with your patients, for shame.”

Julian knew this to be a joke, but the prickle along his conscience was real. 

“I didn’t hear you complaining much…” Julian said mildly and got up, heading towards the shower. “Join me? For expediency’s sake?”

Garak laughed hard at that. “You’re good, doctor, but I doubt you’re  _ that _ good.”


	12. Letting Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! Gah. Plot continues with the next chapter...

Garak doubted much could be accomplished in the three metrics they had on their disposal.

He was proven  _ extraordinarily  _ wrong when the doctor grasped his hips and bit into his neck. Garak reciprocated by biting right back, and they spent a long, wonderful metric joined like this, mouth-to-neck, in a very satisfying circle. Subatoi then lazily stretched his hand backwards, without even looking at the dial, and raised the setting on the shower.

The next metric and a half, after which Garak lost count, was spent with Subatoi touching his Sky, licking into his Earth, and stimulating his Deep Spring with firm strokes of a proficient thumb. 

Garak knew the rumors about surgeons and their hands. Now he had more than fantasy to fuel his lonely explorations. 

“Come for me, Garak-” Subatoi commanded, and to his consternation, he did - slick flooding down his thighs, languid and warm.

So, maybe he didn’t have a thing for humans, but Garak was forced to confront the fact he  _ definitely  _ had a thing for doctors. Fuck. 

One had to be aware of their weaknesses at all times, lest they be exploited at the worst possible moment. The Order was full of cautionary tales. 

Subatoi hummed happily against his Earth and kissed it. The action made Garak shiver. 

Had he ever let anyone do to him what he allowed this human in the past, what, two time units?

The human doctor may not be an enemy agent, but that didn’t make him any less dangerous. Garak suspected if he had more time with the man, there would be little that was off the table, so to speak. Subatoi had the knack for making even the most unpalatable thing pleasurable.  He was almost sad to see the human’s rain cleansed off, the taste seemed...intriguing, and he’d only managed to sample so little…

Still, they were out of time. Senal would probably call again to mortify him, and Garak wanted to avoid that. Once was bad enough. Being interrupted by Senal felt almost as bad as being caught by Mila. 

Almost.

Once he deemed himself acceptably clean, he stepped out of the shower and headed towards his discarded clothing. 

It lay in a sad heap on the floor and he frowned at the ingrained conditioning he’d received at Bamarren, to keep his personal effects immaculately. In the Order, he’d been chided for revealing his fastidiousness during missions. One of his colleagues called him  _ pinched-scale _ . In return, he called her  _ glued-seam _ , since she refused any kind of sexual contact in the field, even when it would be to her advantage. Ah well, on her head be it. 

Garak was glad that his natural curiosity served him well. It made him more flexible than most of his peers, which turned out to be a comparative advantage. Most of the other agents of his rank would sooner discreetly kill a person they suspected to be an enemy agent, rather than employ a more subtle approach. Well, Garak was quite satisfied with how this little distraction had panned out, despite Senal’s rude interruption. 

He dressed quickly, checked whether he still had his communicator, universal tool, and small blade (check, check and check). He attempted to get his hair in order and sighed at the subtle snags he could feel among the strands. One of these days, he would succumb to practicality entirely and cut it shorter. 

Garak sensed the human’s approach and did a half-turn, surprised when Subatoi placed warm palms on his shoulders and gave his aural ridges an affectionate nibble. 

“I guess this is good-bye?” Subatoi asked in a curiously saddened tone. 

“It would seem so.” Garak acknowledged.

“When does your ship leave?”

The question took him by surprise. Repeat performances of these sort of one-off encounters were uncommon. 

“Tomorrow, as soon as our repairs are complete. I doubt I could get away, especially not now - with Senal breathing down my ridges…”

It was the truth.

“All right.” Subatoi said softly and tucked a strand of hair behind Garak’s ear. “It really suits you, this long.”

The comment seemed rather out of place, but Garak had no time to waste investigating exactly why it felt strange.

“Good-bye, doctor. It was fun.”

Subatoi seemed to be suppressing something behind a soft smile. “I enjoyed your company very much,  _ Mister _ Garak.”

There was meaning behind the words that eluded him, but the issue of tardiness demanded his attention, so he extricated himself from the doctor’s loose embrace and left with a parting look he hoped conveyed his gratitude for a time well-spent.

Hurrying down the bustling corridor, Garak knew he was already late and wondered how viciously Senal would tear into him…

***

Gone.

Julian sat down on the bed - still rumpled and covered in wet, barely-drying splotches, and sighed deeply. The air around him was cloying, over-saturated with the scents of their shared pleasure. It stung his nostrils and prickled in his eyes. 

And when he tried to lay down, his hand met crumpled foil of the half-emptied box of chocolates. He squeezed it with a twitch, filling with regret.

He should have given the rest of the box to Garak, wishing him safe travels.

He should have pressed palms with him, at least once. 

He should have told Garak to invite him to lunch when next they met, but as always, the best ideas struck when the moment was long-past. 

Finding Garak’s ship would be easy, but reaching out after this would be...desperate. Foolish. Risky. 

And Julian, for all his adventurous spirit, couldn’t justify it. 

It was better this way. 

It was.

With trembling fingers, he popped a chocolate in his mouth, crumpling the little shiny wrapper in his fist.

It tasted saltier than usual. 


	13. Duty Calls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Garak doing spy stuff!!

Garak really should have been more affronted when Senal gave him a cursory sniff, then pushed him, clothes, boots and all, into a sonic unit. 

“You reek, pup!”

“I don’t!” Garak protested, resenting the comparison to a simple riding beast. “I already showered!”

“Not well enough!” Senal pushed between his shoulder blades, keeping him exactly where he was. “We don’t run a brothel here, thank the State the captain didn’t catch you - he’d have probably dismissed you on the spot.”

Garak rolled his eyes. As if he needed the job. 

“It’s nobody’s business what I do in my spare time.” Garak grumbled, annoyed at the feeling of sonic vibrations buzzing through his clothing.

“Do you think you’re the first whelp I had on this ship, spending time with aliens in debauchery? I’m tired of watching drunk, drugged, and stupid youth fucking up my attempts to keep this ship running.”

Garak half-turned, affronted.

“I’m not drunk! You think I’d fuck up our repair schedule like that? I’m not a complete reprobate, by Akleen!”

Senal’s stern expression softened marginally. 

“Prove it tomorrow by being functional, and I won’t have to find a new vole to train for crawling through the ducts!”

Garak’s neck ridges stiffened in indignation. 

“Now get some rest, the shipment should be transferred over in about seven time units. Scram.”

Giving Senal one last glare, he skulked back to his shared quarters, happy to find them empty (the rest of his bunk-mates were probably gambling in the kitchen again). Being the youngest on the crew had its (few) advantages. He hated pretending he was bad at kotra, anyway.

Garak whipped out a padd and turned on the feed from the cargo bay he’d placed under surveillance earlier. He slipped a discreet ear-piece into his left ear, so even if someone walked in, they wouldn’t see (use the walls, always use the walls). The image on the padd crystallized, revealing the space half-filled with crates and salvage. It looked mostly the way he remembered from when he placed the monitoring devices, but he cursed under his breath when he saw that one of the angles was now obscured - new cargo had been dumped right in front of the lens, making it usable only for audio. 

These things happened, it was impossible to account for every eventuality (agents were still  _ heartily  _ recommended to try regardless). Diminished overview of the situation was unfortunate, but not yet catastrophic. 

He might need to use his emergency transporter to get off the ship and intervene if the situation deteriorated further. This was supposed to be an intelligence-gathering mission, nothing more. Garak couldn’t let everything go to shit. Blemishes on one’s record in the Order severely reduced chances of promotion, and he wanted to prevent that at all cost. He was building a reputation of resourcefulness, and he was loath to scuttle it so prematurely. 

He didn’t want to know what Tain would say in case of failure, but he could bring to mind many different kinds of displeased expressions.

And the closet. He would always remember that damned closet.

Ten metrics until the meeting time. 

Garak focused on the feeds, determined to catch his captain’s right-hand man in the act - colluding with the enemy to traffic Bajorans out of the occupied sector. Out of the entire crew, he really hoped Senal wasn’t in on it. He’d really hate to send someone so spirited to the labor camps; she wasn’t exactly young enough to survive a prolonged stint. The old crake was tough, though. Perhaps she’d be running the camp before long.

Keeping an eye on the screen, he readied his transporter bracelet, triple-checking that the hijacking of the freighter’s re-materialization system would erase his trip from the logs. 

Three metrics before the allotted meeting time, the doors to the cargo bay slid open, letting in the stronger illumination from the corridor behind. The contrasted silhouette was distinctly masculine, and Garak waited to be sure, observing the man’s movements and tracking his way through the dimly-illuminated cargo bay. 

Oh yes. 

His captain’s right hand man was there, skulking like a pest in a fully-stocked pantry. Garak’s eyes observed greedily, waiting for the trap to close around the man. Another metric or two and his accomplice would show, providing enough evidence for the Cardassian courts to toss them both onto some out of the way penal colony (possibly together). Cardassian justice was often poetic that way and Garak derived considerable amusement (as well as satisfaction) from it.

Back to the task at hand. Waiting.

Garak despised waiting. It was necessary, but by far the most boring part of the job. 

Soon, though. 

The Cardassian on his screen started pacing around restlessly. Garak tried not to let it bother him, but as the designated time came and went without any sign of the man’s accomplice, he was starting to feel his quarry’s restlessness. 

Something was wrong, as Garak didn’t get the impression of nervousness from the target in his day-to-day comportment. Now, every step of his bled worry. 

Garak snatched another padd, one which he had synced with the man’s communication devices. Perhaps the elusive accomplice got spooked and decided not to show. That would scuttle Garak’s mission, and if that happened, he needed to give the Order something usable or he was screwed. 

Tain knew his weakness. If he fucked this up, he’d probably get sent into some caves to spy on illegal Breen mining operations. 

The device in his hand pinged with a new message to be decrypted. 

In a frenzy, his fingers tapped, activating the decryption algorithm he’d used to crack the other communiques, and waited for the result. He looked at the other padd, and cursed. His quarry was reading the message and heading out, obviously having understood the meaning. 

Garak needed to know where to go, and  _ fast _ . 

_ “Meeting place compromised. Small turbo-lift off of Terk’s. Now.” _

Compromised? How did they know? His devices didn’t seem to have been tampered with. He sent a signal to scrap them regardless. They would only be a liability now. 

Garak felt damned gratified he knew which store the message referred to. Terk’s Junk Emporium was hard to miss. He accessed the scan of the station’s current layout, and decided on a suitable spot near the junction with the turbo-lift in question. Springing from his bed, he grabbed the two padds, his repair kit and transported himself into the closest spot from which he could observe. 

As he materialized, he ducked behind a gaudy shop sign, and watched his mark approach the turbo-lift. The lift was too small to hide in, and it was too late to plant anything in there now. If only he’d had a few metrics warning, he could have placed a new listening device in there, but all he could do now was tap into the man’s communicator and hope it stayed on long enough to transmit useful information. And perhaps get a visual on the accomplice. That might be enough to cover his neck with the Order. 

Eyes trained on the corridor, he focused on the turbo-lift, fastening a magnification tool over his eye. It might capture a useful image, at least. He snapped a few of the traitor and waited.

At this hour, there weren’t as many passers-by, and he, decked-out like a grubby mechanic, attracted very little attention. On most stations, mechanics were as common as voles, and just as easily overlooked. Garak enjoyed blending in and observing unobstructed;  _ unremarked _ . 

The doors to the turbo-lift opened and-

-and it was empty.

After a moment’s hesitation, his mark entered the lift, looking around warily. 

Shit. 

Garak kept an ear on the feed from the man’s hacked comm, and rushed to remotely access the emergency response system that was usually part of every lift. If it was operational, that is. On a Ferengi station, the odds of that weren’t great. If he were trying to insure privacy for his own clandestine meeting, he would have made sure to disable any such system. Garak could only hope that Bajoran traffickers weren’t so shrewd. Or cautious.

His ear-piece crackled with a brief burst of static. A subtle whoosh of turbolift doors could be heard. Garak perked up - the contact just got on the lift from another stop. 

He could still salvage the mission!

“You’re late,” the Cardassian traitor said, “why did you change the meeting place?”

Garak expected a reply, but none came.

“That’s not my fault.”

The silences implied a conversation led non-verbally. Was it a telepath? 

“A reasonable precaution, I suppose...”

Another silence. If he strained his hearing he could just about hear… Was the accomplice writing on something?

“I’m still getting my money, right? I up-”

With a grating screech, Garak’s link to the hacked device was terminated. 

He let out a hissing expletive. He needed to hurry and tap into the emergency line in the turbo-lift, or he could say good-bye to his promotion. 

The schematic of the turbolift system blinked onto his screen, flashing directions of travel and potential stops. Garak found the lift he needed and saw it was headed down, to the docking area. Isolating its reference number, he tried tapping into its emergency system. 

The station’s computer systems logged it as active, but Garak couldn’t access the feed. Whoever was in there with his mark, probably had a portable jammer. Either that, or they had spoofed the feed before-hand. 

His last hope was to find out exactly where the lift was headed and intercept them, taking an image at least. If he was lucky, he could find out the identity of the accomplice that way. Even if the person disappeared afterwards, the Order could track them. Perhaps Garak could sabotage the repairs on the freighter to get more time to investigate…

Dock 7/1. There was no time to waste.

Garak shoved his gear back into the box and activated his personal transporter-

-only to re-materialize in a gaggle of Ferengi. 

“Hey! Scale-face, watch it!” A gnarly, one-eyed Ferengi shoved him with an elbow, straight into his still-healing ribs. 

“Sorry, I was just sent to collect a spare-part. I’ll get out of your way.”

“Spare part? What for? This dock is for private use of my crew, and we don’t deal in any parts.”

Garak tried to peruse his memory for any knowledge on one-eyed Ferengi captains (or shady dealers), but came up empty. He had no idea who this guy was. 

“Oh? Is this not dock 8/1?” Garak gambled.

The shriveled-lobe Ferengi looked at him with a narrow eye. 

“I’d say you’re in the wrong place, boy.”

“My deepest apologies,” Garak offered a servile little bow, trying to emulate the groveling gestures he saw Ferengi perform when dealing with their betters. “I will be on my way immediately.”

He was about to head for the turbo-lift which was just around the corner, when he heard the unholstering of a weapon.

“Not so fast.”

Garak plastered on his most guileless face and looked at the man placidly. “Yes?” He had every intention of appearing cooperative. Seven to one were not great odds, even with his extensive training taken into account (and those seven opponents being  _ Ferengi) _ . Their race was not exactly known for their physical prowess, but any idiot could fire a disruptor. And there was already one pointed his way. 

“There’s the matter of trespassing.”

Garak wondered if he had the misfortune of running into the only bunch of Ferengi who didn’t feel inclined to solve their issues with a little bribery.

“I have three slips of latinum in my pocket...I’d gladly give them to you if you’d overlook my mishap just this once. You see, I really need this job and if my captain knew I made such a stupid mistake, he’d dismiss me…”

The Ferengi’s lips stretched into an ugly, needle-like toothed sneer. “Glad we understand each other.”

Internally relieved, Garak was about to reach into his pocket when the Ferengi made an ugly sound - “Which pocket?”

“The left pocket of my trousers.” Garak said truthfully, very glad there was nothing else in that particular pocket that could incriminate him. 

The vicious-looking Ferengi motioned to one of his underlings. “Search his pocket.”

Garak was doubly glad that he actually had four slips, instead of three. 

It seems that fact pleased the goon as well, seeing how he took all four and displayed them to his boss with a look of base, dumb greed.

“I’ll take the fourth as well. Any objections?” The one-eyed Ferengi said sharply and Garak adopted a servile pose. 

“None. Thank you, sir.”

“Off with you, now.”

Garak tilted his head in gratitude and hurried away, glad they hadn’t had the foresight to take any of his things. He hadn’t planned on being near the turbo-lift when it arrived, and knew if his mark found him here, he’d be on alert instantly. Garak had to be ready for anything. 

Taking the padd with the lift system displayed on it, he tracked it on the schematic. It was supposed to open here, but when he looked at the direction the lift was going, he realized the command to take it down had been overridden, and that the lift was currently two levels above him and ascending. 

Shit. The new destination was nine levels up. 

Garak ducked into the first shadowed alcove and decided to risk it all. If he could compensate for the speed of the lift, he could transport inside while it was on the move, and surprise them both. Luckily, he had all the system information at his fingertips (unless it too was spoofed, in which case he’d materialize into an empty shaft and free-fall to his death). He quickly input an emergency transport back to his ship’s engine room (the most likely part of the ship to be empty this time of the night). His failsafe taken care of, he calculated the coordinates for the transport into the lift and vanished. 


	14. The Snag

An infinitesimal amount of time later (disconcerting, because he lost awareness for a brief moment each time before he re-materialized - and it felt  _ wrong _ ), he found himself, adrenaline rushing, hyper-alert -

In a moving elevator. 

With only one occupant. 

A very dead, sprawled-out occupant. 

A very dead, very  _ familiar  _ Cardassian occupant, who had a knife of Nausicaan design sticking out of his neck in a rather grotesque manner. 

From what he could see, the death had been swift and brutal (if inelegant), and he moved into a corner so he wouldn’t step into a rather large (and spreading) puddle of slowly congealing blood. 

Why didn’t the murderer just use a disruptor? This was so messy and impractical! Maybe they were trying to frame someone. Well, Garak planned to be long-gone before anyone tried to pin anything on him. 

He took pictures, zoomed in, took some more, and whipped out a scanner to get any lingering material traces he could before someone opened the lift and caught him looming over a corpse. 

The panel near him chimed.

_ “Incinerator protocol engaged.”  _ It flashed, in bold Ferengi script.

_ What now?  _ Garak thought, wondering what that could be, and accessed the station’s schematic. There was a saying favored in the Order - _ ‘When one thing goes wrong, you can expect a chain.’ _ Well, he was about to make himself a nice necklace. There, just a level above him was a garbage-treatment facility. 

That the lift was apparently designed to open down to.

He had less than a metric before the floor dropped open, with him and his former crew-mate unceremoniously dumped into a chamber that would burst into flames hot enough to dissolve pretty-much anything organic.

That was one way of getting rid of the evidence, he supposed. Incinerator or not, this still wouldn’t get rid of the blood on the floor. 

This was not a professional job. It had all the marks of a desperate individual, making do with the knowledge at their disposal. Someone who was improvising, much like Garak was forced to. 

The murder of a Cardassian citizen would be investigated. He only hoped his scans and visual evidence would be enough to point the authorities in the right direction. 

The floor beneath him shuddered. His time was up. 

Garak hastily took one last scan of the turbo-lift’s controls and grasped his transporter bracelet tightly.

***

Back in the engine room, he dropped into a crouch and stilled, diminishing his presence. 

Garak didn’t sense anyone nearby, but that didn’t mean he could stay idle. He opened one of the ducts they’d be working in come morning, and crawled inside. It felt viscerally uncomfortable, but he needed privacy, and this was the best he could come up with on short notice. 

It would likely be a few hours before the second-in-command was missed, and Garak needed that time to sift through all the data he’d collected and try to get as much out of it as possible. 

There were too many questions.

Something spooked his mark’s contact enough to change the meeting place. Whatever it was, it merited covering their tracks via sloppy murder. The dagger might have been Nausicaan, but no Nausicaan Garak knew of would go through the trouble of cleaning up after themselves. The dagger was likely only there to shift blame. 

Well, this wasn’t  _ too  _ terrible, really. A Bajoran trafficker was dead, so the chain of distribution was broken on the Cardassian end. Despite that relatively positive spin on the situation, Garak knew the point of his mission had been to find out who his mark’s liaison had been. Without that information, or at least a  _ viable _ theory, Garak would have to get quite creative with his report if he wanted to avoid backlash. 

Time units trickled by as he ran through the evidence, dissecting every scan he’d made. 

On a second look - with danger of imminent discovery and immolation being past - the state of the turbo-lift’s walls struck him as odd. They were far too clean, for one. From a mangled wound such as the one he’d seen, there should have been arterial spray - some kind of spatter at least. Whoever killed his mark should look like they had taken a shower in blood, but there was no trace of that on the walls, doors, or the floor. Naturally, the extensive blood pool could have hidden any traces on the bottom, but it didn’t account for the almost pristine state of the rest of the lift. 

Of course, he was no expert, but something wasn’t right here. 

The wound on the neck could have been inflicted after he was already dead… And if so, perhaps he’d been cut in a less visible place, on his back perhaps - 

-or drugged. Possibly even poisoned.

Garak cursed himself for his lack of foresight. He should have taken a sample of the blood for analysis (even though it would have been dangerous to be found in possession of such a thing). Alternatively, he could have transported the corpse with him, maybe sell the human doctor some sob story about being attacked, and get Subatoi to perform an autopsy…after which he would probably have to dispose of him. 

All for the better, really. It would be a pity (and perhaps a touch  _ ungrateful _ ) to kill such a lovely bed-partner, especially when said creature did nothing wrong (and did oh-so-many things  _ just _ right).

That Order saying was sure coming true. Garak sighed and buried himself in analysis. This would be a long, painful day. 

He only hoped he could grab a cup of piping hot gelat in the kitchen before his day job. 


	15. The Theft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian gets a clue as to what's been happening.

Julian hadn’t been able to sleep. He’d tossed and turned, trying to isolate the scent of Garak on his covers from the general dampness of the station and re-playing their encounter in his mind like a broken record. If he hadn’t been so exhausted, physically and mentally, he’d have likely succumbed to the very real temptation to bring himself off one more time. 

Was he morally dubious for seducing the young spy? 

Kind of. The only thing making him feel better about it was that Garak had practically flung himself at him, completely unambiguous for a change. But no matter how he tried to rationalize it, Julian was left feeling slightly reprehensible. 

_ I’m a weak, weak man. _

A concession in lieu of a confession. 

Garak had always stirred Julian’s more reckless impulses, bringing out the side of him that jumped first and asked questions later (if at all), and it always left him feeling giddy and exhilarated; clamoring for more adventure - more thrills to excite his imagination and engage his mind. 

If he were to be completely honest with himself (something he often avoided, because it  _ hurt, _ damn it), Garak had always occupied a not-insignificant portion of his brain. He used to believe it was out of caution, or fascination with the man’s former occupation, and there was certainly a lot of both, but if he delved deeper into it - and with the benefit of hindsight - Julian was ready to admit there’d also been a profound appreciation of sheer skill and wit in that heady mix. 

As an augment, he was forced to hide his true ability in just about every area, so dealing with Garak felt like a  _ holiday _ ; like a veritable indulgence - a chance to flex  _ all  _ his muscles. It was challenging in all the best ways, and provided him with a strange feeling of safety - to be a more  _ pronounced _ version of himself.

Developing these feelings seemed almost  _ incidental, _ in a way _.  _ To Julian, Garak had been a  _ project  _ \- an ongoing source of fascination, much like a good medical mystery. It kept his attention;  _ commanded  _ it. His interest in Garak had never waned, even as his feelings for the other objects of fascination in his life did. Melora, Jadzia, Leeta, Sarina, Ezri…even Palis. He’d felt strongly about all of them, but now, he found he thought of them significantly less often than he thought of Garak. 

Garak had endured,  _ lingered _ in his mind. Now, when he was older, and hopefully slightly wiser than he’d been, Julian could admit to himself that what he valued in a companion had changed. It was no longer beauty and fun he favored, but good company. Someone to talk to, someone who made him question his preferences, his entrenched patterns of behavior. Now, Julian wished for a person who would engage him, who could enjoy his occasional whims and accommodate his unforgiving work-to-personal-time ratio. 

He’d been  _ wary _ of family; as a concept and as reality, running from his fiancée and toxic parents both, knowing he couldn’t deal with it, but not quite  _ why _ . 

It took years of exposure to different kinds of family dynamics to show him that being called  _ family _ could have advantages, and not just drawbacks by the dozen. He had Miles O’Brien to thank for that, primarily. Keiko’s and Miles’ relationship was living proof that a healthy marriage was possible even when personal or career goals clashed sometimes. It gave Julian a more reasonable (and infinitely more palatable) sort of template to aspire to. 

More than anything, it had given him  _ hope _ . All his life, he’d been trying so hard to form relationships, both platonic and romantic, and failed more often than he succeeded. There had always been something abrasive about him, just a touch out of sync with everyone else. He made mistakes he wasn’t aware of, causing the people in his orbit discomfort or outright insult. Now, it was true he’d gotten better at it, but if he were quite frank, it was a part of him that could only be smoothed-over and never completely corrected. 

Perhaps, at the age of forty-two, it was time to stop trying to mold himself to fit, and instead seek a person who liked him the way he was. And Garak had always enjoyed his company, no matter how inept or blunt Julian could be. 

Garak knew Julian better than anyone, and he’d never reproached Julian for the things that made him insecure. 

Julian had no doubt that Garak had been a villain to anyone who’d crossed his path in an interrogation room, but real life and real people were so much more complicated than he’d been able to admit. To him, Garak had always been decent, accommodating even - to his flaws and eccentricities. And Julian knew their interactions had changed them both - for the better, as far as Julian was concerned. He’d learned patience and the beauty of complexity, and Garak...maybe, just maybe, realized that an act of kindness could transform the world. Inner, as well as outer.

They had gently abraded against one another in an effort to maintain understanding, and achieved a rare and precious kind of equilibrium. 

And while Julian was perfectly fine on his own, a significant part of him yearned for something intangibly, unquantifiably  _ more.  _ The work he was doing was fulfilling and worthwhile, yet...to share it with someone who could understand...wouldn’t that be lovely?

For the first time in years, Julian stopped to think about his future in broader terms. Sure, he had impulsively taken Garak to bed, and it sparked a need for more than just physical release - a need to make his feelings, his  _ desires _ known. The reason why he never confessed his evolving feelings to Garak became abundantly clear - he hadn’t known what he would do with the man, even if he had him. Would they maintain an unsatisfying long-distance relationship? It’s not like Julian had the right to ask Garak to abandon his responsibilities and come back to the station to live with him. For his part, Julian never could envision leaving Starfleet and settling on Cardassia Prime - what would he even do there? Was there room for a human doctor in one of their hospitals? Could he settle for something like that, bind himself to a mostly inhospitable place, only so he could be by Garak’s side?

Contacting the man without a clear goal in mind...would be unconscionably cruel. 

_ Yes, hello Garak. I want to be with you without actually changing my lifestyle one bit; swing by the station so we can get drunk and wreck some nice holographic upholstery? _

It would go down about as well as a lead balloon. 

So, he loved Garak. Wanted him - his company, his sharp wit, his touch - everything they’d shared before and more of what they shared last night (a part of Julian was almost unapologetically optimistic about his prospects in that area). But wanting was not enough, and stringing Garak along was unacceptable. 

Provided Garak even wanted anything to do with him. It would be the height of entitlement to assume that Garak still felt the way he insinuated in his epic-length letter - let alone wanted the same things out of an...arrangement. Physical compatibility didn’t automatically translate into other areas. 

Julian sighed. Sleep was a foregone conclusion at this point, and he twisted in the sheets, wondering whether he should get dressed and head for the infirmary. It was too early, but what else was he going to fill his time with? 

For that matter, why was he still here?

He’d said good-bye to Garak, hadn’t he? He should be back home already! Unless he still had some unknown part to play here...

Julian didn’t want to be stuck in the past, torturing himself for God knows how long. At this point, he wasn’t sure whether he was being kept hostage by the wormhole aliens' strange whims, or his own inability to decide on a course of action upon his return. 

Damp with sweat, he flung the covers off and got up, stretching limbs that hadn’t managed to relax in repose in the hours since Garak left. 

He hadn’t had enough, and was beginning to suspect there might be no such thing where Garak was involved. 

Julian shuffled over to the toilet and sat down, disinclined to bother aiming in the darkness. 

It took only four attempts to flush this time, and he padded over to the tiny sink to wash his hands and splash water on his face. 

He fumbled in the dark to locate the light switch and shielded his eyes against the light, even as muted as it was. Just looking at the clothing he’d worn yesterday sent his thoughts spinning straight back to the sight of strained pleasure on Garak’s youthful features. 

Julian  _ wanted.  _

And for the first time, his want exceeded his doubts. Yes, a million things stood in their way, from physical distance, to the matter of Kelas, and finally, the complicated situation with Julian’s current employment and how quitting to leave for Cardassia might look to Starfleet brass. While he wasn’t  _ ungrateful  _ for his father’s melodramatic gesture of falling on his sword in order to make himself look like a good and proper parent, all  _ self-sacrificial _ in a bid to allow his son to keep his ill-gained medical career, Julian couldn’t help but be bitter about the fact that his agency had been stripped from him  _ yet again _ . While he loved his job, he hated feeling beholden to anyone. Knowing that he was only still gainfully employed because of a shady deal made behind his back, rankled more and more as time went on. He was being stonewalled for promotion, and it felt unfair. Surely he’d proven he wasn’t the next Khan by now! 

Despite the various obstacles, this time, Julian wanted to at least  _ try _ . Put his heart on offer as bravely as Garak had, with that letter Julian had never acknowledged in full. 

He refused to try and calculate the odds of success. Win or lose, it would be up to Garak - his choice. 

Julian dressed, donning socks and mentally running through the list of tasks this station’s meagre infirmary demanded of him. He could always re-sterilize his equipment. Goodness knows it wouldn’t go amiss. 

He twisted his head to the right, satisfied with the ensuing cracks and stepped out of his quarters into the low-light of the station’s night cycle. Even at this hour, he could see activity - people in various states of inebriation, even a pick-pocket or two. He was extra glad he’d destroyed, and then dematerialized his badge in the replicator, unwilling to take the risk of Starfleet technology falling into the wrong hands. He was sure some enterprising tinkerer could reverse-engineer it, or even figure out it was from the future. At best, they’d conclude it was some kind of secret Starfleet tech, issued to field operatives. Julian couldn’t risk it, no matter how comforting it was to have a piece of his own time with him. 

Infirmary doors opened haltingly, and Julian turned on the lights. He hummed one of Vic’s tunes, hoping it would improve his sombre mood and took stock of his rather worse-for-wear instruments. He was on his third, when he noticed something odd.

Hadn’t he closed the doors of the storeroom when he was done with work yesterday? Now, there was an inch gap between the doorway and the door.

Immediately on alert, he grabbed a scalpel and carefully approached. If there were thieves, he’d probably already alerted them by turning on the lights, and he really wasn’t in the mood to get killed at his ungodly hour. 

“If you’re still in there, come out. I don’t want to involve security, but I will if you give me no choice.”

There was no sound. 

Julian reached for a medical scanner and directed it through the crack in the door, checking for lifesigns. 

There were none. 

Only marginally relieved, Julian opened the door fully and inspected the space visually. There weren’t very many places someone could hide in there, and as he checked each carefully, he heaved a relieved sigh, lowering his scalpel. Whoever had been here had gone before he’d arrived. 

Now he only had to figure out what had been stolen or tampered with. 

After a thorough twenty minute inspection, he was surprised (and alarmed) to find only one thing actually missing - a hypospray with a hefty dose of a strong anesthetic. 

It was a Ferengi variant, a far cry from anesthizine or neurozine favored by Starfleet. It worked about as fast, but it had more undesirable side-effects (not that the Ferengi cared, it was cheap and therefore better). Not to mention that on several other species, it worked as a tranquilizer instead, whilst also providing a high - which made it a sought-after commodity in seedier places. 

The trouble was - whoever had availed themselves of it, made off with a dose strong enough to kill several adults (depending on the species). 

So, either he had a junkie angling for a fix on his hands, or someone a bit more  _ entrepreneurial _ . Whether their business ran in the direction of, well,  _ business _ or in the direction of murder, Julian couldn’t say. 

He hated the train of thought his brain decided to take. Why did he immediately suspect Garak? Was it because he knew of Garak’s past drug abuse (that had been just due to the wire, right?) or because the man was currently a full-fledged,  _ active _ member of the Obsidian Order? To have Garak stealing from him from under his nose and assassinating someone...it was a horrid (and awfully plausible) thought. When he’d forgiven Garak for everything he’d done...had this been one of those things? 

The Universe truly did have a warped sense of humor. 

Then again, would Garak be so sloppy? Leave the door open like that? 

This brought Julian back to the idea of someone stealing for personal use. Unless they knew how to dose themselves, they could still end up dead, or hurt. And if they’d intended to sell it, why not steal more? Why just one hypo?

Perhaps the thief didn’t want to alarm him, hoping that one hypo’s loss would go unnoticed. Maybe they were used to stealing from the former doctor, knowing he wouldn’t notice. Julian desperately hoped for this scenario, even if the odds of it weren’t great.  He felt like an even bigger fool. Here he was, daydreaming about professing his love to Garak, while the man’s younger counterpart was busy plotting someone’s demise and using Julian’s idiocy against him. 

Had he been played?

Julian buried his face in his hands and sighed, weary to the bone.


	16. Nilan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kai Nilan visits Kira for a little chat.

“Gone?” Kira’s voice turned shrill with anger. “What do you mean - gone?!”

“I did not notify you in order to upset you, Colonel.” Kai Nilan said calmly, and Nerys appreciated not being called ‘ _my child_ ’, the way Winn used to do, all condescendingly. 

“What was he even doing near the Orb? Which one of your attendants left the case open?” Kira rattled off, deeply unsettled by the loss of her friend and CMO. Not to mention the ton of paperwork she’d have to file about the incident.

“It was no accident.” The old woman said placidly, her expression soft and self-assured. “The young man is precisely where he’s meant to be.” Kira failed to stifle her incredulity. 

“I offered him the chance and he took it.” The Kai smiled gently, a touch of mirth in her lucid eyes.

“You…” Kira was at a loss for words. To do this on purpose… She wasn’t prone to doubting the motives of a Kai (unless it was Winn), but she failed to see the purpose in exposing Julian to the Orb. “Your Eminence, I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but... _why_?”

Kai Nilan laughed. “Please, none of this _‘Eminence’_ business, I’m no better than anyone else.” Then she turned marginally more serious and paced around Kira’s office, her footsteps sure, if somewhat slow. She stopped near the viewport and stared outside. 

Kira watched her in silence and waited. 

“What do you know of Bajoran efforts to relocate off our homeworld during the first two decades of the Occupation?”

The question caught Kira off guard. She hadn’t been alive then. She’d been born to an occupied, suffering world.

“Not much.” Kira admitted. “I know that some escaped in their vessels, abandoning the rest of us to our fate.”

“That is not what I meant,” Nilan said in a firm, yet not unkind tone. “I’m talking about what came _after_ , a decade into the Occupation.”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t born yet.” Kira said icily. 

The Kai hummed an unfamiliar melody, its intervals strange and almost discordant. For a long moment, the old woman seemed lost in memories. 

“The new generations have forgotten, but I haven’t.” The Kai said, her voice turning strong. “The years have soured our collective memory until only the atrocities remained.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Kira said softly, shifting uncomfortably in her chair.

“Have you ever felt affection for a Cardassian, Colonel?” Nilan asked, looking at Kira over her shoulder. 

A few years ago, Kira would have denied feeling any such thing, but since being exposed to Ziyal and Tekeny… Her uncomplicated feelings of hatred for all things Cardassian morphed into quite complicated feelings of pity, protectiveness, even love, as far as those two Cardassians were involved. Damar had her pity and grudging respect, and Garak… She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about Garak. He’d always been a slippery one.

“Yes.” Kira admitted. “I cared deeply for Dukat’s half-Bajoran daughter, Ziyal. And… I held Tekeny Ghemor in greatest esteem.”

“Tekeny Ghemor…” Nilan’s voice turned distant. “Did you know that his father was assassinated for his political views? Supposedly, he was one of the leaders of the faction opposed to the Occupation of Bajor. He claimed Cardassia would be better served by a more comprehensive trade-agreement, rather than outright war.”

“I...I didn’t know that, no.”

“Imagine if his faction had won?” Nilan speculated, almost fondly. “Perhaps these hybrid children languishing on Bajor would be happy with their parents, living in cooperation and harmony instead of being despised on principle, through no fault of their own.”

“But they didn’t.” Kira reminded, “Cardassians chose to _take_ rather than negotiate.”

“What do you think happened to Cardassians who were opposed?” Nilan offered, turning back to the star-dappled view.

Disposed of, Kira imagined. Either via execution, labor camps, or by being threatened into silence. 

“Killed. Or made to fall in line, one way or the other.” Kira said bluntly, feeling her heart racing uncomfortably. 

“Yes. And yes.” Nilan murmured. “But also something else.”

Kira waited for the answer, disinclined to interrupt. 

“They went into hiding. Denied involvement.” Kira was about to snipe something about cowardice and lack of personal principles when the Kai continued.

“In all levels of Cardassian government and military, we had allies. The first few years, there were even open defectors, teaching Bajoran militia the use of Cardassian technology and tactics. Needless to say, the response of Central Command had been brutal and swift. Any Cardassian who dared help was found and made an example of. After that, it only got harder for all involved. Finding sympathizers wasn’t as difficult as you’d imagine - it was finding those willing to step up that was the real challenge. See, in the years leading to the Occupation, Bajor and Cardassia had tentative trade agreements. It was not uncommon to see Cardassian ships in our space-ports, bringing fragrant spices, refined ore, or even ancient artifacts for trade. We gladly gave them our excess produce, fine textiles and casks of spring-wine in exchange. They were a wary people, half-starved by a vicious civil war on the outskirts of the Union, and we felt pity for them.”

“That doesn’t excuse what they did to Bajor! Instead of asking for help, they turned our planet as barren as Cardassia Prime!”

“A crime of desperation. A corruption of government, leading to what they perceived to be easier - conquest over diplomacy. In the end, no one was better off. Cardassia received a few decades of prosperity, bought by back-breaking labor of millions of Bajorans, only to have the illusion shattered by the Dominion.”

“I was there.” Kira said grimly. “Supporting Damar’s rebellion, until the very end.”

Nilan smiled faintly, her wrinkled face fond. 

“Full circle.” She said wistfully. “Things always come full circle.”

Kira was starting to wonder whether this conversation would ever arrive at the point. Perhaps she was too upset to see the merit in the wise woman’s words. 

“We have the opportunity to start over - Cardassia and Bajor.” Nilan stated firmly.

“I think we’ve all lost our taste for war.” Kira confessed, beyond tired of all the strife. She would much rather spend her future establishing diplomatic relations than go back into the mindset of having to kill or be killed. Even if politicking and playing nice grated on her every last nerve.

“And there is your answer, Kira Nerys.”

“Answer to what?”

“To why I let your doctor choose.”

Kira wasn’t sure what they were talking about anymore.

“Isn’t it the Prophets who choose who gets sent through time?” Kira asked, feeling like her faith was being tested.

“Do they?” Nilan questioned aloud, “I wonder… Perhaps that’s not their role.”

Kira stuttered, “But - they guide us!”

Nilan continued, unperturbed. “What if they _facilitate_ , instead?”

All this talk of philosophy and nature of time was starting to give Kira a headache. 

“What has already happened and what _will_ happen...We cannot fathom such complexity, not fully. But even guided as we are…we’re the ones who walk the path. The Prophets exist immersed in time, yet separate. They may _see_ the path in its entirety, but cannot walk it themselves.”

“So…” Kira grappled with the concepts, “what you’re trying to tell me, is that...Julian was always meant to go...wherever he’s gone?”

“Can you imagine a world where the Maquis never happened?” Nilan deflected strangely. 

“I’m-” Kira massaged her temples. “Forgive me, Eminence, this is all rather confusing.”

“Each individual choice shapes the Universe we live in. Perhaps we shall wake up tomorrow, to a Universe where Cardassia and Bajor are at peace.”

“Or one where the Dominion destroyed us all...” Kira muttered, slightly aggravated.

“Would we know it hadn’t meant to be so?” Nilan’s contemplative question hovered in the air. 

Kira suspected she’d need a raktajino after this conversation. Nilan turned away from the window and faced Kira, her wrinkled face softening into a small smile.

“And that is why we seek guidance from the Prophets. I don’t believe they would allow a future so bleak.” 

That was all well and good, but what was Kira supposed to do without her Chief Medical Officer in the interim?

“May I ask what outcome you are hoping for by sending Julian...wherever... _whenever_ he is now?”

Nilan smiled mysteriously and stood up straighter.

“I am hoping that my oldest friend was right, and that tendrils of love extend farther than we believe possible.”

With that, the Kai departed, leaving Kira to her thoughts.

Tendrils of love-

_What?_


	17. Senal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Senal is trolling Garak, and Julian is trying to connect the dots.

Not even three cups of gelat had been enough, in the end. He was up to his elbow in engine parts, and had been busy disassembling a particularly stubbornly-welded plasma intercooler for the better part of three hours. To say he was exhausted and particularly ill-disposed would be a massive understatement. He’d been sniping tiredly at Senal all day, and to make matters worse, she was responding with undisguised amusement - glee almost.

“Pup, I know older women are irresistible to fledglings like you, but I have no patience to endure your inept overtures. Now, stop hissing like a riding hound in heat, and give me that hyperspanner.”

He couldn’t even muster the strength to be properly outraged. He’d merely parried a tired, “I may like them older, but not  _ fossilized… _ ”

Senal barked a laugh and snatched the tool out of his hand. 

It was some six hours into the proceedings that their captain showed his face. Senal clipped her hair away from her face, annoyed at the loose strands getting in her field of vision.

“It will be done when it’s done, Krim! I don’t need your hovering.”

“I’m not here about the repairs,” Captain Krim said wearily. “Jetar is missing.”

Their freighter captain was a man in his late fifties, quiet and unassuming (a good quality to have, in Garak’s opinion), whose hair seemed perpetually out of place, never quite slicked back enough. Garak would have assumed it was due to a slovenly nature, if he didn’t know for a fact that the man upheld the rest of his hygiene routine with almost religious fervor. He cycled through three outfits, donning a freshly laundered one every day. He was fairly meticulous in everything he did, from the way he ate, to the way he commanded the ship, knowing at all times the status of their supplies, cargo, and a list of equipment that could use upgrades. He was efficient like a well-trained bureaucrat, and kept to himself. By all standards, a model Cardassian citizen. 

“He’s probably lying somewhere in a stupor after having one too many glasses of kanar.” Senal said, completely unconcerned. “Call the station’s doctor and ask, maybe the fool was found sleeping it off somewhere.”

“I already have. Nobody’s seen him. And I don’t have an inexhaustible purse to keep paying any shifty Ferengi who claims he’s seen him.”

Garak suppressed a snort. As if Ferengi would be truthful! They’d just grab his latinum and run.

“He’ll show up.” Senal waved the spanner through the air in a dismissive gesture. 

No he wouldn’t. At least not in one piece. Nobody would know what became of Jetar unless Garak got the time to check if any of that bloodstain remained at the bottom of the turbo-lift. Perhaps it was better to not draw attention to the murder. As soon as he was due another break, he’d send the rest of his report and ask for further instructions. The situation was irregular enough to warrant it. The Order was very meticulous about keeping up to date with ongoing operations - the packet he’d sent early this morning had probably already been processed. 

“You know he’d been monitoring his drinking lately.” The captain said, measured, yet visibly upset. 

“I know his wife was threatening separation unless he got it under control.” Senal said uncharitably. 

Garak hadn’t known that. Any little tidbit for the report might help swing things from a fuck-up to an acceptable (if unavoidable) loss. 

“I’ll notify the Station Master to declare him missing.” Krim said, visibly resigned.

“You know the greedy bastard will want a bribe if you actually want anything done?” Senal reminded him.

“You could always threaten him with a Cardassian investigation,” Garak chimed in nonchalantly, “One mention of the Order and most Ferengi will retch up the tube grubs they had for lunch.”

Senal looked at him sharply. “Don’t invoke the Order, whelp. If they ground us for investigation, half of our cargo will rot. We’ve all got mouths to feed.”

Garak had to remind himself that they had no idea their second-in-command was very much dead. They weren’t being bad citizens, they were merely trying to be pragmatic. After all, what could be more pragmatic than ensuring one’s family had enough to eat?

“I have his pay for the week, I’ll offer that up.” Krim concluded and gave them both a cursory glance before departing.

“You think a week’s pay will be enough to get anything done?” Garak asked Senal, somehow doubting it.

“Not a chance.” Senal grumbled, yanking a component out of the wall, “Krim will probably dip into his personal reserves, the fool.”

“He didn’t mention that.” Garak observed.

“Why would he? It doesn’t concern the crew. What he does with his money has nothing to do with us.”

Well, Garak was fairly certain he should take this lull in the action to make his transmission to the Order. Hopefully, they’d instruct him to drop the matter and send someone else, in a more official capacity. After all, a Cardassian citizen  _ had _ been murdered...

“May I run to the facilities real quick? I’ve had too much gelat.”

Senal rolled her eyes and shooed him away.

Grateful for the reprieve, Garak made himself scarce. 

***

Julian was having a right shit day. First it was the break-in; then there was a visit from an extremely entitled Ferengi who demanded to be catered to like he was the Grand Nagus himself, all but asking Julian to give him a round of oo’mox, and things didn’t improve from that point on. There was a case of alcohol poisoning (minor), and a food-intolerant Bolian who made a complete mess of Julian’s civvies. After he’d dosed the woman with his best anti-emetic, he charged her extra for having to go through the hassle of cleaning his only set of clothes. Bolian stomach-acid was no joke, and he’d had to run back to his room to scrub it out immediately, or he’d have to cater to patients in an outfit riddled with holes. Perhaps Garak would find it avant-garde or something. 

And speaking of Garak, once he was back in the infirmary, Julian was greeted by a sombre Cardassian who introduced himself as Krim, captain of the freighter whose crew Garak had infiltrated, masquerading as a  _ plain and simple  _ mechanic.

Julian had been asked about the whereabouts of a wayward Cardassian, their second-in-command, who’d apparently gone missing last night, some time between 01:00 and 06:00 hours. Julian told the man he hadn’t treated any Cardassians after having Garak in for his rib injury, and kept the knowledge of a stolen hypo to himself. After all, he had no proof of crime, only idle speculation. And it’s not like he wanted to blow Garak’s cover. He wasn’t here to interfere. Or so he hoped, anyways.

The captain thanked him politely, and gave him his comm code in case Julian found out anything new. 

Now, while Julian hadn’t exactly been paying attention to the time yesterday, he was pretty sure he was Garak’s alibi for a portion of that time, an hour or so, at least. Sadly, this still left Garak with five hours to be up to no good. Julian had stumbled into the infirmary around 5:10, by which time the hypo was long gone.  _ If  _ it had been Garak, that left a solid four hour window for nefarious activities.

Once more, Julian tried to force himself to remain objective. There was no reason to believe Garak was here to murder anyone. This could all be pure conjecture. As far as Julian knew, the young spy was here to snoop around Ferengi trade secrets or something. His mission could involve literally anything!

He tried to ignore the account of Romulus and the Edosian orchids used for assassination. That had been a slightly older Garak...Right?

Well, whatever it was, the people of this time should resolve it themselves. There was no way he was getting involved unless it was absolutely necessary.

***

Transmission sent, Garak went back into the horridly cramped ducts to assist Senal with the final phase of their retrofit. 

“You took your time…” She snarked, sneaking a sly glance his way. “If you’re feeling any... _ burning _ sensations down there, perhaps I should send you back to the doctor?”

Garak gaped at her like an idiot, horrified at the idea. She chuckled unrepentantly, reaching into the disassembled section of the hull and pulled out a cracked plasma conduit.

“Then again, I bet you’d  _ like  _ that. I should just leave you to suffer your discomfort till we get back to Prime. Maybe they’ll use you as an example for the medical trainees…” 

Perish the thought! What a nightmare that would be - a laughing-stock for a gaggle of future doctors...

“For someone so prudish, you’re putting a lot of thought into what’s inside my seams,  _ Senal _ .” He sniped back, hoping she’d let the matter drop.

She laughed so hard she cracked her head against the beam across the top side of the duct they were currently crouched in. 

“And the little pup  _ roars _ , baring its itty-bitty fangs!” 

“Senal, really. We have work to do.”

She snickered gleefully, “Oh, I can work just  _ fine _ while my mouth is otherwise occupied…”

Garak was pretty sure his ridges had darkened at the memory of Subatoi’s  _ occupied  _ mouth, slick fingers disappearing into its depths, only to return wet with the human’s saliva. It was rather disgusting, really. Why was he wasting time thinking about it?

“I suppose he wasn’t bad looking…” Senal conceded, “though, all that face scruff looks rather ridiculous.”

That  _ ‘face scruff’  _ as she so eloquently put, felt quite nice against his skin - only slightly abrasive - just right. 

“And, I mean...if you like that waifish look, I suppose. Such a scrawny male, looks like one could snap him like a twig.”

“He was stronger than he looked.” Garak muttered, shutting his mouth with a click. Senal didn’t need to know that. 

Why were they discussing this again?

Ah, right. The time-honored tradition of ‘ _ torment-the-youngest’ _ . 

He should really learn to shut his mouth instead of making things worse for himself. 

Senal actually  _ tittered _ . “Well, I hope it was worth it, pup. Humans are notorious for sleeping around. I heard there’s no species they wouldn’t fuck if given half the chance. Not sure they could treat you adequately on Prime for any sexually-transmitted diseases you could get… Did you ask for the human’s number in case you need to consult him about any symptoms?”

“Senaaaaaal,” Garak groaned, finally yielding. Ugh, this woman’s wit was no joke. 

“I’m just saying, my posturing little hound, to get yourself checked out.”

“Fine! I will!” Garak promised. “Can we  _ please _ get back to work now?”

“I’ve never had such an  _ eager _ worker before!” She grinned and Garak huffed.

She would  _ never _ let this go. 

Garak bared his neck for a moment, signalling surrender. 

Senal merely smiled from ear to ear, a long uninterrupted curve with no teeth - just the most smug line of self-satisfaction he ever did see. 

The people who told him  _ his  _ smile made him look punchable should see Senal and eat those damned words. Or have the guts to  _ actually  _ punch her. 

Garak’s money was on Senal. 


	18. One Last Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garak gets his orders and decides to meet with Subatoi one last time.

They were finally done with repairs. Garak groaned at the way his spine crunched when he stretched. Senal had slapped him on the back in congratulations for a job well done and he’d felt like his lungs had very nearly escaped out of his mouth. The woman was shockingly strong. 

“I’d say you deserve a shower,” Senal grinned at him, still energetic. “You did good, though I would suggest you actually  _ sleep _ the next time we have such extensive work to do? Even if I know my words will probably just slide right off of your ridges.”

Garak grumbled and dragged himself to the showers, taking his padd along. He needed to check whether his instructions had arrived. He stepped into the shower, padd in hand and accessed the encrypted message hidden in a letter he’d been sent. The Order hid all their encrypted information in innocuous-looking correspondence or junk data. This time, it was a letter from his  _ ‘sister’  _ reminding him not to miss a family gathering in a month’s time. If he wasn’t a field agent, he might consider writing these cover letters rather fun. 

He ran the decryption and waited, watching patiently as words rearranged themselves on his screen, flickering for a fraction of a metric before obliterating themselves from the memory on his device. Only the letter remained.

Even as brief as it had been, Garak recalled every word. He was used to memorizing brief flashes of information by now. 

_ “Maintain cover. Leave as scheduled. Debrief upon return.”  _

Garak breathed a sigh of relief. This meant he was officially done with this mess, and that someone else would do the follow-up. Now, whether there would be repercussions upon his return remained to be seen. If they stalled their departure a little bit more, perhaps he could get more information from Captain Krim’s (likely fruitless) investigation. 

He put his padd down and finished his shower in peace, stretching his seizing muscles. 

Maybe he should follow Senal’s advice and go see Subatoi to get tested - not that he expected him to find much, as they got thorough check-ups in the Order both before and after any missions. Still, maybe he could spare himself some embarrassment if he got a check-up before his return. Getting a sexually transmitted disease  _ would _ be kind of embarrassing. And it would go on record, which he wanted to avoid. Especially since he fucked someone of his own initiative, and not in service of the assignment. 

Whether the test revealed anything or not, it would be a good excuse to see the doctor again, maybe use the chance to entice the man into providing him with another orgasm… And then there was the appealing prospect of tasting the human again - knowledge which might serve him well down the line. Who knew when he’d have to deal with humans again? Having fore-knowledge on their mating practices could only be to his advantage.

When he stopped feeling grimy, he turned off the shower and dressed, tucking the padd into his pocket.

The doors to the shower room opened, and he stepped outside, heading towards the kitchen where he expected to find Senal now that their work was done. She was probably sipping on a cup of exquisitely bitter gelat by now. 

Their pilot passed him by and sneered. Garak rolled his eyes and side-stepped him, guessing that the rumors had reached everyone on the ship by now. Or maybe the stuck-up bastard was the one who’d spread them in the first place. 

Garak guessed there was no cure for some people’s lack of healthy curiosity. How dull their lives must be!

Senal looked up from her cup and pinned him with a sharp glare.

“What are you still doing here, pup?”

“I was wondering when we were scheduled to leave…” Garak trailed off, glancing at two other crew-members in the kitchen. He doubted they could be counted upon to mind their business. “I thought I’d take your advice, is all.”

Senal’s face softened imperceptibly.

“Krim said we take off as soon as diagnostics clear, which should be in around half a time unit. As long as you’re here before that, I don’t see why you couldn’t run your little  _ errand _ .”

Garak made an exasperated noise, but thanked her anyway before setting a brisk pace in the direction of the station’s infirmary. It would take him around five to eight metrics to get there, depending on the cooperativeness of the turbo-lifts. 

Unplanned this visit might be, but Garak was looking forward to it, as giddy as a schoolboy being praised by his favorite instructor. Subatoi had proven to be a highly-worthwhile distraction, and a skilled lover on top of that. Garak could still feel the ghost of those smooth fingertips tracing his Sky, making his legs quiver and throat loosen until involuntary moans spilled forth. 

Was he being reckless for wanting more of the forbidden?

Probably. 

That didn’t mean he was about to stop, though. 

Garak knew he would be reassigned immediately after they got back to Prime, and as such was very unlikely to be sent anywhere near Zek 15 for a very long time - if ever. His career allowed him to travel extensively (even if some locales were not exactly places a person would  _ choose _ to see if given the choice), and he enjoyed it. Getting to serve the Union was a privilege, and he gladly got his hands dirty if it meant safety and prosperity for the civilians. He was also proud of the fact he was deemed good enough to serve in this higher capacity, learning and keeping secrets for the Order. He knew Mila was proud of it too - from a simple housekeeper and a gardener’s son - he was given a chance to rise in the ranks, and he wanted to use it wisely. 

When he got to the infirmary, he was greeted with the sight of Subatoi prescribing some kind of medicine to a supremely embarrassed Ferengi, who squeaked at the sight of Garak, grabbed the medication from Subatoi’s hand and dropped a fistful of latinum slips onto the table before scurrying out as fast as his brightly pink-clad legs carried him. Truly, Ferengi had the most  _ daring _ sense of fashion. It wasn’t always a good thing, but Garak could admire the loud patterns and the vibrancy of the colors. Unreliable and greedy Ferengi may be, but they certainly didn't look drab!

“What’s his hurry?” Garak asked, turning towards Subatoi, who was busy gathering his payment and slotting it into the safe-box in the wall. 

“I can’t tell you that, Garak.” Subatoi said with a touch of soft reprimand in his warm voice. “Doctor-patient privilege. Does that not exist on Cardassia?”

“As a matter of fact, it doesn’t.” Garak lied blithely, and when his eyes met Subatoi’s, he had the distinct feeling the human didn’t believe him. 

“Be that as it may, I value my patients’ privacy, so I won’t be answering that. Now, what can I do for you? Are your ribs giving you trouble?” 

The genuine worry he could see there, mixed with professional detachment, intrigued Garak. Had he left an impression on the human? Were all humans this sentimental? What a horrible weakness to have!

“No, my ribs are fine...it’s…” Garak trailed off, playing up his innocence for no other reason than he  _ could _ . Subatoi seemed to find him precocious, and Garak wasn’t about to try and disabuse him of that. “It’s about yesterday…” When he looked up at Subatoi, playing all hesitant and meek, Garak was surprised by the flash of wariness he could see in the doctor’s expression and wondered where it came from. 

“It was brought to my attention that, ah...I might want to get tested for any... sexually transmitted diseases.” When Subatoi’s strange, fuzzy eyeridges shot up, Garak realized his words could be taken as accusation. He backpedaled, “Not that I think I picked up anything from you - it’s just, you know how bosses can be, right? Senal’s an old shriveled shrew, and she keeps tormenting me with scenarios of being made fun of if I have to go to a hospital back home, so… Could you just...make sure? Just to get Senal off my neck!”

It seemed that had been the right thing to say, seeing how Subatoi pursed his lips, expelling air in a peculiar way and started laughing. 

“Fine, Garak.” Subatoi said in-between chuckles. “I’ll run a scan. On the house, seeing how I’m to blame for any potential... _ issues _ .”

Garak allowed himself a suggestive smile and took in the human under the stronger lights of the day cycle. He was undeniably beautiful. Garak could only hope that the novelty hadn’t ran out since yesterday, and that he could yet entice Subatoi into another satisfying tumble.

“Lie on that bed for me.” Subatoi instructed, and Garak complied.

Once he was completely prone, Subatoi approached him and drew the diagnostic arm over the bed, enclosing his midsection. Garak swallowed back his discomfort. He was fine. There was enough air here, as well as light. He wasn’t actually trapped. 

“It won’t take long, I just want to make sure I don't miss anything. The hand-held scanner isn’t as accurate as I’d like. Now, I’m not exactly well-versed in any Cardassian diseases you might have, but I can account for anything on the human side of things.”

“What if you fucked some Orion a month ago? It’s not just human diseases you should look for, is it?”

Subatoi shook his head. 

“Not that it’s any of your business,  _ Mister _ Garak, but since we  _ were _ intimate, I suppose I should be forthcoming about any recent partners, just this once. There hasn’t been anyone in over a year, and I checked myself after that. Maybe I got something from  _ you _ ?” The human said wryly, giving Garak the impression that Subatoi was teasing him. 

“No partners? For an entire year? I find that hard to believe.” Garak said honestly, trying to remain calm as Subatoi took readings. 

“Why?” Subatoi asked lightly, absorbed in his work. 

Garak caved to his impulse to be sarcastic. “Oh yes, you look absolutely hideous. I bet people scream at the mere sight of you.” When he realized Subatoi’s lips were quirking up, he decided to up the ante. “I’m sure there are  _ many  _ who would pass up the chance to rumple some sheets with you.”

Subatoi’s face transformed with a wonderfully charming smile, a darker color suffusing his cheeks. 

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

As well he should, Garak thought. It was intended as such. 

“Is celibacy part of some weird human religion?” Garak inquired.

Subatoi laughed, his warm voice filling the air like a lovely melody. Garak enjoyed the sound, it was so rich, so freely given. Generous, just like its owner. 

“There are some religions like that, yes, but I’m not an adherent of any.” Subatoi stated simply, and Garak had no cause to doubt him. 

“So...why haven’t you taken a lover in over a year?” Garak asked, curiosity piqued.

Subatoi gave him a peculiar look before his eyes drifted into the distance, seeing something visible only to his mind’s eye. 

“Because I’m tired of flings. And because…” Subatoi stopped himself, and blurted out self-deprecatingly, “You’re not interested in that.”

“Why wouldn’t I be? I asked, didn’t I?”

Subatoi sighed, shoulders slumping fractionally as he braced himself against the half-circle of diagnostic machinery locked over Garak. 

“I am tired of investing time into relationships that won’t survive past the initial attraction. I want a companion to spend my life with; someone who’ll debate interesting topics with me, who will embrace my faults and not hold them against me. Someone…” Subatoi’s face scrunched up. While Garak couldn’t claim to be an expert on human facial expressions, this one read clearly as  _ pain _ .

“Someone...specific?” Garak intuited.

Subatoi’s eyes flooded with what looked like guilt. Maybe even anguish. 

“Yes. Someone very specific.” Subatoi admitted, face softening in what could only be fondness.

“Have you known them long?”

For a long moment, the human was silent, fiddling with the bed’s diagnostic function. Garak was beginning to suspect that his question would go unanswered when Subatoi spoke up, quietly.

“Over a decade. For several years, we had lunch every week. We spent those lunches discussing literature and politics, ethics and morality… I miss that.”

“Why did you stop meeting? Are they uninterested in more than friendship?”

Subatoi looked him in the eye and Garak had to suppress a shudder. It felt like the human could see into every last corner of his being, exposing every flaw, every doubt, every fledgling hope. 

“Oh, he was very interested. For a while, at least. I just...didn’t feel the same, then. I was too busy chasing other things. Now, when I’ve finally figured out what I want...he’s probably moved on.”

Garak felt an uncomfortable and unwelcome twinge of jealousy for this unknown man who occupied Subatoi’s mind. It seemed he’d been merely a diversion.

This was good though, they’d used one another for an enjoyable evening and nothing more. Things were perfectly equitable. This was as it should be.

Garak wondered what he should say, when Subatoi nodded at something he’d read on the screen. 

“Good news, Garak - you’re perfectly healthy. I didn’t give you Orion thrush after all.”

Garak scoffed at the sarcastic remark, inwardly relieved to know he was safe. The half-circle keeping him in place clicked open and retreated. He sat up as soon as he was able.

“You’re free to go, Garak.” Subatoi said, sounding supremely tired. 

Well, Garak wasn’t ready to be dismissed quite yet.

“My ship leaves in fifteen metrics… I thought we could...extend our goodbyes?”  Subatoi looked up at him, startled by the offer.  “You could lock the storeroom door for a few minutes…”

Subatoi swallowed, his eyes flitting to Garak’s mouth, then up to his forehead before averting his gaze entirely. 

“I might like a second chance to properly appreciate your taste…” Garak spoke in low, persuasive tones, leaning forward and trailing his palm down Subatoi’s clothed torso. The human twitched under his palm, and uttered a half-formed sound of distress. To Garak’s ears, it sounded a lot like suppressed want. 

“I don’t know when I’ll be here next, so...one last time?”

The doctor seemed tormented, oscillating between leaning into the touch and moving away, breathing accelerated as if in exertion, lips opening and closing in a soundless gasp. Garak wanted to crush his reluctance, to crumble away any reservations, and summon the Subatoi from last night - the one who touched like he wanted to possess him. Garak leaned in even closer and bit into Subatoi’s sinfully soft neck. In retaliation, two sure-fingered hands grabbed his upper arms. 

Garak was surprised by the strength of the human’s grip - so firm and unyielding; a warning almost. 

It seemed the doctor required more persuading. 

Garak trailed sucking bites up the column of the human’s lovely neck and stopped near his ear, muttering his finishing blow exquisitely slowly, savoring each syllable.

“Can I...  _ taste  _ your thorn?”

He was rewarded with a strangled whimper and before he had a chance to feel smug about it, his hair was being pulled back, dextrous fingers tangling in the strands and holding him firmly in place. Subatoi’s eyes blazed the same as yesterday, focused solely on Garak - seeing nothing but him. His ridges suffused with heat - every last one.

“I love your filthy mouth, you utter brat.” The human hissed darkly, his gaze assessing and hungry. 

Garak moaned, the sound swallowed by the hot mouth descending over his, not taking no for an answer. 

“Storeroom, now.” 

The command skittered over Garak’s lips, and he expressed his enthusiasm non-verbally, following the physical pull Subatoi was exerting on him. 

One more time.

One  _ last  _ time. 


	19. Saying Goodbye

Again.

He was doing it again. 

Falling into Garak’s sweet lies, tangling in the expertly woven web, sucked into a vortex like a planetoid helpless to avoid merciless forces of gravity. He resented the fact Garak had taught him to question his initial impulse to trust people around him, because all he could think about now was what Garak’s real agenda was. 

It was hard to maintain justifiable levels of suspicion when being kissed goodbye, ferocious and desperate. Garak’s hands on his neck could decide to squeeze any second now, but Julian couldn’t help but shiver at the caresses. The person in his arms didn’t feel like an assassin, but Julian assumed that was rather the point. 

He needed to know.

“Garak-” He mumbled, cut off by Garak bringing him closer, lips fusing once more.

“Mmhm.” Garak hummed and reached down to fiddle with the fastenings of Julian’s trousers, managing frustratingly well. 

The man could multitask and Julian would admire it in any other circumstances, but this was a matter of life and death. Probably. For someone out there. 

“I heard one of your crewmates went missing.” Julian said and observed Garak halting for a second. 

“Our second-in-command, yes.” Garak conceded, his movements slowing considerably. Julian shivered at the feel of Garak’s palm rubbing against his half-hard prick over the fabric of his briefs. His eyes fluttered shut as he tried to marshall his wits. 

“There was a break-in into the infirmary last night.” Julian murmured, hoping he wasn’t making a huge mistake. He opened his eyes and tried to pay attention to Garak’s reaction.

Garak’s ridges drew together, and Julian hoped he was interpreting the expression correctly. If he knew Garak at all, and he flattered himself that he had a pretty good idea, it looked as if this was news to the young spy. 

“The station’s full of unsavory characters… Was something actually taken?” Garak's tone was casual as he lowered his head, nipping at Julian's neck, but Julian heard the genuine question. 

Pushing himself to think against Garak's effective distraction, Julian realized that if Garak didn't know already, he couldn't be the culprit. Maybe it was his missing crewmate--and maybe telling Garak would set him on the crewmate's trail. 

“A vial of anesthetic.” Julian confessed, trying to keep a clear head as Garak continued his sensual assault. “It could also be used as an addictive substance in some species...”

Julian could feel the exact moment when comprehension sank in, Garak’s body going rigid for a mere second. 

“Do you...know something about the break-in, Garak?” Julian asked carefully, hoping Garak might tell him something useful. 

“No.” Garak denied it, and Julian could tell he was busy thinking. “I went straight back to the ship after I left your quarters.”

Quarters that, Julian’s mind unhelpfully supplied, were but two doors away from the infirmary. 

Despite that, he drew on his ample reserves of memories where Garak had lied, as well as those where he spoke half-truths, and this statement rang true. Now, there was definitely a lot he  _ wasn’t _ saying, but Julian firmly reminded himself it wasn’t his business. 

This was Garak’s past. Julian couldn’t change any of it. 

He’d chosen to forgive Garak. It was hard to keep that fact in mind while the immediacy of Garak’s job was staring Julian in the face.

It was hard to love him. How could you love a man like that and not be reminded that doing so compromised at least a part of your own integrity?

As Julian watched Garak return to undoing his trousers, he was reminded of multitudes. And the man he loved was so complex, so full of contradiction - shielded and impenetrable, sentimental and spiritual. Pragmatic and irreverent. 

Touch-starved and needy.

Open to pleasure, if one knew how to maneuver around the minefield of his insecurities and paranoia.

“I don’t have much time, how about we focus on something more interesting?” Garak suggested, and the sight of him getting to his knees in front of Julian was enough to raise the fine hairs across his body.

Why wasn’t Garak bolting for the door, armed with this knowledge? Why was he still here, doling out touches and hungry glances?

“I  _ did  _ promise you an orgasm that would bring you to your knees,” Garak muttered, blue eyes flashing in the dimness of the storeroom. Julian wondered if he was close enough to the shelf to reach for a hypo full of something that would incapacitate Garak should it become necessary. Deadly hands grasped his soft member, and he stilled. He was at the young spy’s mercy, and it wasn’t the kind of mercy  _ his  _ Garak would extend to him. 

Garak chuckled in the gloom.

“It looks so harmless this way,” Garak observed, examining it with warm fingers before looking up. “We both know looks can be deceiving, don’t we?”

Julian wondered why his fear and arousal went hand-in-hand. Garak had always had a strange power over him.

“What function does this serve?” Garak inquired, fondling his scrotum. Julian trembled at the stimulation, blood rushing south and leaving him mildly light-headed.

“Testes…” Julian squeezed out, stifling a moan as Garak’s tongue darted out to taste his tip. 

“On the outside? That seems terribly unwise from a biological perspective…” 

“It’s...actually an adaptation,” Julian panted as warm lips sucked gently on the sides of his prick. “The inside of the human body is too warm for...ah-spermatogenesis. The process requires a lower temperature, so...hn-”

“Fascinating.” Garak breathed out, his tongue hot and mildly abrasive against Julian’s skin. Slick and tentative, it laved Julian’s length in an unpracticed manner, but it hardly mattered. Garak had clearly never done this before, lingering in places that wouldn’t ordinarily do much for Julian at all, but it was the  _ sight _ of him - the intent look, the keen tongue, the scalding breath - Garak on his knees, one hand grasping a half-unclothed thigh, and the other holding Julian’s erection gingerly as he explored.

Julian could only gasp softly, watching as if hypnotized the way Garak drew him into his mouth, doing barely anything more than tasting him.

“Some suction...would be welcome.” Julian panted, bracing himself against the crates stacked along the wall.

Garak made a sound with his mouth full, something between a hum and a purr, and Julian whined, the sight of it overwhelming. Cardassian saliva seemed more viscous and he couldn’t stop the appreciative moan at the sensation of the smooth glide of firm lips down his length.

“That’s-oh-that’s perfect-” Julian babbled, a trembling hand reaching out to caress Garak’s hair in encouragement.

Garak’s eyes fluttered closed and he seemed to give himself into the action wholly. Julian buried his fingers in smooth black locks, and trailed a thumb over the ridges that climbed into Garak’s hairline.

“Yes...just a little bit more…” Julian crooned, unable to stop himself, praise falling from his lips easily. “You’re doing so well-ah-”

Rational thought fading, he let his thumb find Garak’s pretty spoon and dragged a deliberate touch along it, eliciting a full-body shudder. As he continued to touch, the hot slide of Garak’s mouth reached farther than he’d expected was possible. Julian both heard and felt Garak choke, and realized he was too far gone, the constriction around the head of his prick sending him spasming over the edge. He jerked backwards and let loose a strident groan, spilling himself into Garak’s willing mouth. 

A glance downwards revealed a sight worthy of a thousand words. 

Palms flat over Julian’s thighs, with fingers digging into his flesh like he was captured prey, the icy ring of blue crushed into a string around a well of obsidian; a panting mouth half-open, glistening white spilling over the sinuous movements of a tongue Julian had never seen so bared before. There was a stark line of fierce cerulean blue, right down the middle, only adding to the enticingly dazed look Garak was currently sporting.

Julian was so startled by it that he failed to react when Garak’s palms slid down his legs, dragging his trousers and briefs lower. Before he could get his bearings, a very deliberate push of fingertips into the back of his knees unbalanced him, and Julian came tumbling down, landing on his knees painfully.

“What are you doing?” He asked in a panicked voice, still muddled by the force of his orgasm. 

“Bringing you to your knees like I promised,” Garak said around a mouthful of seed, making Julian marvel at his audacity.

Julian took in the way Garak closed his eyes, swallowing excruciatingly slowly in a sinuous movement that begged for attention. Julian could do little but stare at the beautifully ridged neck, tempted by Garak’s bared, soft throat.

When Garak finally looked at him, he was smirking indecently - prompting Julian to wipe the smugness off his face by stealing a deep kiss. With a protracted moan, Garak melted into him, clutching at his back possessively. 

When they finally separated, both breathless, Garak chuckled. “Do you still love my filthy mouth?” 

Julian’s response was automatic and unfiltered.  “Adore it.”

Garak rumbled happily, rubbing his nose lightly against Julian’s.

A mechanical ping intruded on the moment, making Garak curse and reach into his pocket. He drew out his communicator and cut off the noise.

“I have to go, my ship leaves in five metrics. Senal can’t seem to keep her muzzle out of my affairs...”

They helped one another up, and Julian hastily re-dressed. Garak was busy dusting off his knees and smoothing out any wrinkles in his outfit. 

“What do humans say after satisfying encounters like this?” Garak asked, his mood visibly improved.

“I’m not sure.” Julian said truthfully. “Thank you?”

Garak snorted. “How unimaginative.”

They stood there in silence for a moment, basking in the dying embers of intimacy. 

Julian unlocked the door and let it whoosh open. Garak made to walk out when Julian impulsively reached out, grabbing his hand. 

“Wait.”

Garak turned towards him, waiting for him to speak.

“May I...press palms with you?” Julian requested quietly, uncertain whether the gesture was performed between people who didn’t know one another well. “It is a gesture of greeting, isn’t it? A goodbye…”

Garak halted, an uncharacteristic look of hesitation playing across his face.

When there was no movement or response, Julian babbled, “I’m sorry, I overstepped-” only for Garak to hold out his palm hesitantly. Julian heaved a sigh of relief and approached slowly, raising his palm to meet Garak’s.

What could he say that wouldn’t be trite? The words he yearned to say were out of the question.

“Do you believe in fate?” He asked softly, enjoying the warmth of Garak’s palm. 

The question caught the young spy off-guard. 

“I...don’t know.” Garak said at last, “Some Cardassians do.”

“We...might meet again,” Julian offered a half-truth. “If we do… have lunch with me.”

“I thought you were done with flings,” Garak said wryly. 

The doors to the infirmary hissed open, but Julian didn’t care. He entwined his fingers with Garak’s and leaned in for a soft, lingering kiss that lasted until Garak started squirming. 

“I have to go.” Garak murmured, disentangling their hands.

“Stay safe.” Julian wished out loud, knowing the spy had a difficult road ahead of him. Garak did little more than incline his head, and turned his back, leaving the infirmary.

Once he was gone, Julian directed an apologetic glance at the Bajoran standing stiffly in the infirmary.

Julian smiled. 

“Darein, sorry to have kept you waiting. What can I do for you?”


	20. Confronted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darein has some choice words for Subatoi.

“Darein, sorry to have kept you waiting. What can I do for you?”

Julian observed his benefactor, wondering whether the sour expression he was bearing witness to had anything to do with his open display of affection for Garak. He could see why such a thing would unnerve, even disgust a Bajoran, but Julian didn’t want to apologize for loving someone - no matter what the rest of the universe had to say about it.

Darein said nothing, taking a few steps in a wide semi-circle around Julian. “And to think I felt sorry for you.” He spat derisively. 

Julian frowned.

“To think I offered you  _ help _ .” Darein continued his pacing like a caged animal. “ _ You _ !”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” Julian said tentatively, trying to defuse the situation. “What is this about?”

Every line of Darein’s body screamed of tension. Julian regretted not having grabbed a hypo of anesthetic while he was dealing with Garak earlier, as he had the feeling it might come in handy when dealing with someone who looked like he was about to become violent.

“I thought you were ex-Starfleet, perhaps a criminal on the run. I thought that with time, you could be useful to our cause.”

Darein picked up one of the scalpels lying on a tray and gave it a long, hard look, examining the blade.

Julian wondered whether speaking at all would be counterproductive when faced with someone so visibly upset. It seemed Darein had a lot to say, and Julian felt inclined to let him. He needed to buy himself time to come up with a plan to deal with this increasingly irrational individual. 

“Then I saw you with one of Jetar’s crew members, and I was immediately on alert. What would a human want with a Cardassian? The Federation’s relations with the Union are strained, there’s skirmishes and conflicts - you’re no friends to the Cardassians.”

There was nothing Julian could say to that. Whatever erroneous conclusion Darein had come to, Julian had no effective way to refute or disprove it. 

The scalped changed hands and Julian got the impression that Darein knew a thing or two about using blades.

“See, I couldn’t get the doubt out of my mind, so I called a contact in Starfleet, asked about a particular design of combadge, just to get a better idea of who you were.”

Julian paled. 

“Imagine my surprise when they told me it wasn’t in the database - that it was a model they had never seen before.”

Alarms blared in Julian’s mind. If Darein found out - spread the word of someone from the future fiddling with the past, even if it wasn’t true - it would do untold damage. 

“I thought the Federation were cowards protecting their own interests, sitting on the fence, but I thought in time our interests could align - once you saw how reprehensible the Cardassians were.”

Julian eyed the closest medical instruments, wondering whether he could use one of them to knock the man out. 

“Then I realized you were in bed with them.”

_ Only literally,  _ Julian’s mind supplied unhelpfully.

“Your government is working with the Cardassians - how can you justify it? How can you go along with something like this - aiding the oppressors?”

Julian’s first instinct was to deny it, but he had a feeling it wouldn’t be received well. 

The scalpel clattered back onto the tray, dropped with some force.

“How much do you know about our operation?” Darein asked, posture exuding menace. 

“Nothing.” Julian said truthfully. “Whatever you believe I’m involved with, I promise you - it’s not what you think. I’m not your enemy.”

“You’re a Federation spy! Collaborating with whoever that Cardassian serves, most likely Central Command!”

Darein took a step forward, eyes flashing dangerously.

“I’m not a spy, I’m just a doctor-”

“There’s nobody named  _ ‘Subatoi’  _ in the Starfleet database! If you were a civilian, there would be a record of you!”

There was a certain irony in this Julian would ordinarily appreciate, if he wasn’t worried for his safety.

“I’m not collaborating with him, Darein-”

“You’re just fucking him, is that it? Don’t insult my intelligence.” Having said that, Darein produced a weapon Julian was unfamiliar with. It looked like some kind of small disruptor.

Should he gamble with the truth, or was it time to make a run for it? Behind him was a storeroom full of compounds he could use to his advantage, but if he made any sudden movements, Darein was sure to fire. If he ran towards the man, there was a chance to disarm him, put him in a headlock until he fainted. Julian had options, he just had to decide which one to pursue. 

“This has nothing to do with politics, Darein.” Julian said gently, raising his hands to show he was unthreatening. 

Darein aimed at him, hand shaking and hatred blazing in his eyes. “Last chance to explain yourself.”

“I’m not a spy.” Julian reiterated, sighing in defeat. “I’m just a man stupid enough to fall in love with a Cardassian.”

Darein’s eyes narrowed in scrutiny, lips curling in an ugly sneer. 

“Not good enough.”

Time for explanations was past. Julian ducked the first bright beam and closed the distance between them, jabbing his palm up into Darein’s nose with enough force to incapacitate, but not seriously injure. With his other hand he gripped the man’s wrist until Darein dropped his weapon with a yelp of pain. 

Nose bleeding, Darein looked at him with promise of murder in his eyes and kneed Julian in the stomach. Too close to avoid it, Julian took the blow and pushed Darein out of reach. The Bajoran reached down for his weapon and Julian decided to make a run for it, using all of his augmented speed to rush out of the infirmary. Another beam missed him by an inch, fizzing across the metal of the archway, and he sprinted away, dashing through a gaggle of Ferengi, ignoring their curses and complaints. 

He had more important things to dodge. 

Where to run, though? Darein knew this station better than him - not to mention that he probably had allies. Julian was completely alone here, evading a man who couldn’t be reasoned with - operating on the mistaken notion that Julian was a Federation undercover operative colluding with the Cardassians. 

Should he run to Garak, ask him for help? The freighter was due for departure, what if they were already gone?

Julian rounded a corner, weighing his options when - 

With a flash of bright light, he was gone.


	21. Returned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian goes back to his own time and reports to Kira.

He appeared back in the temple, out of breath and disoriented. The room was completely empty, save for the attendant busy sweeping the floors who yelped and promptly dropped his broom, gaping at Julian. 

“By t-the Prophets!” The diminutive man stammered and Julian shook his head to clear his thoughts.

“It _was_ the bloody Prophets...” Julian muttered and made his way out of the temple and into the bustling Promenade.

Relief coursed through his veins at the sight of the colorful crowd, with nary a shady deal or firing phaser in sight. He couldn’t tell how long he’d been missing, and since his combadge was gone, he decided his best course of action was to head for Ops and knock on Kira’s office door. He only hoped he hadn’t missed much; who knew what state he’d find his infirmary in?

As he boarded the turbo-lift he finally allowed himself to relax, the relentless pounding of his heart finally slowing to something approaching normal. Now that he’d had a chance to catch his breath, his mind was playing catch-up. Just a few moments ago, he’d been running for his life from a Bajoran he’d thought harmless. That just showed what he knew. Garak would have a few choice words to say about that, Julian was sure, chief among them a statement along the lines of ‘ _I told you so’_.

The story was beginning to take shape, despite its edges remaining blurred and the full picture obscured, quite out of reach. 

Darein had been running some kind of operation that Julian had inadvertently run afoul of, prompting the suspicious Bajoran to seek him out in order to confront him. Whatever Garak had been sent there for probably had something to do with that. But, Julian reminded himself, Garak had left the station without confronting Darein - passed him by without a comment. Did that mean that getting rid of Darein hadn’t been the plan, or that Garak had no idea who he was searching for?

Still, this was all in the distant past. Who knew if Darein was still alive? He must be an old man by now...

An uncomfortable thought surfaced in Julian’s mind. Was it possible that Darein had been looking for him - _was_ still looking for him, after all this time? If that were the case, Julian would have been found already - as his younger self. 

The turbo-lift ground to a halt, and Julian stepped out, getting strange looks from the few officers on duty (most of the personnel were Bajoran nowadays). He couldn’t be sure whether it was the sight of him in civvies (as he was usually in Ops for business), or the fact that his clothing was several decades out of fashion.

It seemed there was no need to walk all the way up to the office, since Kira was at one of the consoles, deep in a discussion until the whispers made her interrupt her train of thought.

“What now?” She said, supremely irritated as the Starfleet officer she was speaking to motioned Julian’s way.

“Julian!” Nerys cried out, abandoning the discussion. She marched up to him briskly and assessed him for damage. 

“I’m back,” He said superfluously, not even bothering to feel bad about saying something so painfully obvious. “What did I miss?”

“Kai Nilan’s departure.”

“Huh.” Julian said gormlessly. He guessed she had better things to do than wait for her little experiment to conclude. 

“Come into the office,” Nerys placed her palm on his arm, gently ushering him up the stairs. “You look like you could use a raktajino.”

Julian grumbled. “I could use a lot of things, a good night’s sleep among them.”

She said nothing as they ascended the metal staircase, and directed him to a small settee she’d installed along one of the previously bare walls. 

“Please, sit. Can I get you something from the replicator?”

“Tarkalean tea.” Julian said automatically, before remembering another instance where he’d offered that very same tea to Garak… It seemed his mind could think of little else. Garak was everywhere, filling up his cracks, overflowing from the place Julian usually kept him contained and spilling into the rest of his mind. Whereas before, he would consider it to be invasive - this _over-abundance_ of thoughts and memories associated with Garak - now Julian welcomed it, enjoying the warmth it provided.

“There you go,” Nerys said mildly, handing him his cup, then sat down next to him. 

“Thank you, Nerys.” Julian said absent-mindedly, and shot her a brief look of gratitude. 

“That’s an interesting outfit you got there.” She observed, hands clasped around one knee.

“I had to ditch my uniform and my badge in the past. I destroyed them so they couldn’t be used to determine I was from the future.”

Fat load of good it did him, at least where Darein was concerned. 

“That was probably a smart precaution.” Nerys nodded.

“It was too bad that I apparently arrived unconscious, and someone saw my badge. I very nearly got it stolen.”

“You’ll write up a report.” Kira said half-dismissively, then sobered, looking him straight in the eye. “Right now I’m more concerned about you. It looks like you’ve had a bad time.”

Julian blew across the surface of his tea in an attempt to cool it, and wondered how much he should share, because _‘bad time’_ was not how he’d describe the past two days. Well, not unless he counted the very last bit. Running for his life wasn’t Julian’s idea of fun.

“Where did you end up, by the way?” 

That at least seemed safe to share. It wasn’t like his report would shy away from it. She would get to read all the sordid details as soon as his report was done.

“Zek 15, a small trading station en route to Ferenginar.”

Nerys’ nose ridges scrunched up, her face revealing bewilderment. “Ferengi space?”

“Yeah, I had the exact same reaction.” Julian said, gripping the mug for warmth. Zek 15 had it’s base temperature set considerably higher than Deep Space 9. That must be why Garak had seemed comfortable disrobed. “It’s not the location that proved significant, though.”

“How far back were you sent?”

Julian took a long sip of his tea and tried to calm his rattled nerves. 

“Thirty-seven years. I could tell you the exact date, but it doesn’t matter. It will be in my report.”

“That’s…” Nerys trailed off, “interesting.” She seemed to snap out of whatever thought was on her mind and looked back at him. “Any idea why you were sent there, in particular?”

Julian had no idea how to voice his suspicion. It sounded supremely ridiculous even within the safe confines of his own mind. To say he’d been sent to the past to finally admit to himself who he wanted in his future… It seemed too banal to give voice to it.

“I’m not sure. I was so terrified of running afoul of anything that I just kept to myself.”

“You don’t think you were there to change anything? To help someone?” 

“I think...I think I did what I was supposed to.”

Nerys frowned, scrutinising him. Julian could tell she was wary, but wasn’t sure how to breach the topic. He decided to make the first step.

“Ever heard of a man named ‘Darein’?”

Kira shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Well, he was the first person I met there. He saved me from being mugged by some passing Ferengi. Then he advised me to get work on the station, and when I asked whether they needed a doctor, there was a post available. I accepted because I needed a way to support myself, and they didn’t ask too many questions.”

“But something went wrong?” Nerys intuited, trying to guide him along. He appreciated the effort.

“Yeah. You could say that.” Julian murmured, burying his nose into the cup as he took a soothing gulp of sweet tea. Once he couldn’t drag it out any more, he sighed. “I ran into someone I wasn’t expecting. A mutual...acquaintance.”

Kira was trying to come up with something, but seemed to draw a blank. “Who was it?”

“You won’t like it.” Julian warned her. 

Her face scrunched up in disgust. “It’s not Dukat, is it?”

Julian huffed in amusement. “No, not him, thank goodness.”

“Well?” She asked impatiently, abandoning the hold on her knee only to fold her hands in her lap.

There was no pleasant way of saying it, was there?

“It was Garak.”

She halted for a moment. “Our...Garak?”

“The one and only. Except he wasn’t _our_ Garak, he was...so _young_. A fresh-faced, twenty-something, Obsidian Order operative. It was...unexpected, to say the least.”

A peculiar look crossed her face.

“Julian… You _didn’t_.”

He said nothing to that, how could he? She would only get angry and chastise him - deservedly so. She would point out every good reason he had not to do what he’d done, but it was too late for that. 

“Coming into contact with him - tell me you weren’t so foolish!” Nerys demanded in vain. 

Julian bristled. “He was a patient, I could hardly refuse him treatment!”

“Why do I have a feeling you could have stopped there but didn’t?” 

Julian sighed. “Because you know me.”

“Julian!” She cried out, jumping to her feet and proceeding to pace around the office restlessly. “He could have hurt you!”

The snort that escaped him proved impossible to contain. “He didn’t _want_ to hurt me.”

“You can’t know that!”

He deserved her outrage, he knew that much. Anyone in their right mind would have reprimanded him. 

“Give me some credit, Nerys. Garak had a different mission to accomplish there, I was just...a diversion. He’s the one who sought me out.”

“You could’ve said no!”

“I tried to!” Julian raised his voice. “Don’t you think I tried? You know how persuasive he can get! Besides...I knew better than to stick my nose in his mission. The last thing I needed was for him to come to the conclusion that I was an enemy agent. It was better for him to think I was just some random human with a thing for aliens.”

“Do you even realize what ramifications this has?” 

Julian had some idea, yes.

“It will have to go on my report. I will probably be demoted.” He huffed. “It’s not like I was going to rise in the ranks anyways.”

“And you don’t care about that at all?”

Not as much as he should, Julian realized. 

“You do know that this means...that from the moment Garak met you here, he knew it was you? That you were the person he met in his past?”

Julian’s head snapped upwards, eyes widening. 

“Seriously, Julian! You couldn’t have kept it in your pants just a little bit longer? We have our own Garak right here!”

“Where, Nerys?” Julian said, irked. “Not here. Not next to me. Not at the Replimat, or in his shop at the Promenade.”

“He’s one call away at all times!”

She was right, of course. But that wasn't the point. 

“I never thought...I’d see him that way. A glimpse into who he was as a young man. Not Garak’s account of it, which could just be a pack of lies, but the genuine article. For instance...you know how stiffly he carries himself, moves in incremental, well-calculated twitches? There was not a _trace_ of that in the past. He moved fluidly, energetic and graceful - completely at ease with who he was. It was _beautiful_.” 

And heartbreaking.

Nerys looked at him with pity and sighed. “You just figured this out now?”

“What do you mean?”

For a long moment, she just seemed incredulous. 

“Julian, the entire _station_ knew you and Garak were dancing around one another! Jadzia told me that you were probably too afraid of asking Sisko for permission to date Garak, but we all kind of assumed…”

“Assumed what?” Julian said, alarmed. 

Nerys averted her eyes. “Well...that you...had a thing regardless. Behind closed doors. At least for a while.”

“I wish!” Julian cried out in dismay, “we never even kissed!”

Nerys’ face exuded sympathy. “You’ve just made things so much harder for yourself, Julian.”

“I know that. But what’s done is done. I can’t take it back. And to be perfectly honest, I wouldn’t even if I could.”

Nerys let out a long huff, squaring her shoulders. Any outrage or pity fled her expression, leaving her in contemplative silence.

“I’m your superior now, Julian.” Kira reminded him. “Any Starfleet personnel here are under my command.” 

Julian didn’t understand why Nerys was bringing that up. She stilled for a moment, sitting on the edge of her desk, face somber. “Don’t put it in your report.”

“What?” Julian was shocked. “It’s-”

“It’s none of Starfleet’s business.” Kira stated firmly. “Garak’s mission didn’t involve the Federation, did it?”

“No, it didn’t seem that way.” Julian admitted.

“In that case, omit it from the report.”

“You can’t be serious!” Julian stared at her incredulously. “Are you _asking_ me to lie?”

“Julian, we both know life can be more complicated than the rules and regulations we have in place to deal with things such as these. The Prophets sent you there for a reason. Kai Nilan was very cryptic, but she seemed convinced that you were exactly where you were supposed to be. And since the Emissary is with the Prophets...perhaps he’s influenced this chain of events. I think it would be supremely unfair to blame you for something that most Bajorans would consider preordained.”

“I don’t believe in fate, Nerys.” Julian said, deeply unnerved by the fact he wasn’t sure about that anymore.

“It doesn’t matter what you believe in,” Nerys echoed Nilan’s words. “Those responsible cannot be put on trial or demoted. As your superior, I am ordering you to keep that out of your report. Stick to the facts, say you kept your head down. Any... _extracurricular_ activities, keep to yourself.”

Julian frowned, gripping his mug tighter. “You don’t have to cover for me, Nerys.”

“If anything, I’m covering for the Kai. Offering you an orb experience was a reckless choice I still don’t know the motivation for, but I can hardly question the will of the Prophets. I see no reason to make your life more difficult. You’re the backbone of my team here and I don’t want some paper-pushing bureaucrat to pull you out and place you who-knows-where.”

Julian had a feeling Sisko would be proud of his successor. 

“Did the Kai say anything of interest? You mentioned she was cryptic.”

“Ugh!” Nerys raised her arms in frustration. “She tried to draw me into a philosophical debate, I couldn't really follow. Then, at the very end, she mentioned something about tendrils of love - I have no idea what she was even talking about!”

Tendrils of-

“The Oralian Way…” Julian murmured.

“The what now?” 

“The Oralian Way,” Julian replied, “it’s an ancient Hebitian religion. It was a civilisation preceding modern Cardassians - peaceful, spiritual - following the teachings of Oralius. They believed that people were interconnected, bound by tendrils of light. The great climatic shift of Cardassia Prime brought them to their knees, and the rest were assimilated by the present-day Cardassians. The religion is still being practiced, even after it had been outlawed by Dukat.”

“What does some ancient Cardassian religion have to do with this?” Nerys asked, bewildered.

“The Kai mentioned…” Julian gasped. “She mentioned that she knew a Cardassian in her youth, a follower of the Oralian Way - before the Occupation began. When he got his conscription notice, he refused to participate. He was executed for it.”

Nerys said softly, “Nilan mentioned...I see.”

“She spoke of healing to me. Healing for Bajor and Cardassia.” Julian murmured.

Nerys nodded, lost in thought. “She said something about hoping that her oldest friend had been right about tendrils of love extending farther than they believed possible.”

Julian was rendered speechless. It couldn’t be true, could it? That he got this opportunity because of an old woman’s sentimentality?

“So, what are you going to do about Garak?” Nerys asked, crossing her arms. 

“I’m not sure yet.” Julian admitted, and took a tepid sip of tea. 

“I hope you’re not planning on wasting the Prophets’ goodwill.”

Julian shook his head. “I just need to figure out what to write. There’s an entire memoir I never replied to. I don’t want to bungle this.”

“Julian...if he knew who you were, all this time… He’s waited a long time. Forego the letter. There’s a perfectly serviceable terminal right there. Call him.”

Maybe Nerys was right. 

God… Knowing someone, who they would become, and just...staring at a younger version of them across the table… Julian had put all of this in motion by telling Garak to have lunch with him when they met again. He’d wanted to ensure it would come to pass. 

When would Garak have realized that Julian was in love with him? That the _future_ Julian…

He’d told him. As good as confessed. Garak must have been waiting for Julian to take that trip into the past, for things to come full circle. 

Garak has been waiting for _years_. It would be cruel to delay his response. 

Julian finished his tea and got up, placing the cup onto Kira’s desk. 

“I have work to do.” She told him apologetically. “Take all the time you need, I’m giving you the rest of the day off.”

“Nerys…” Julian halted. “Thank you.”

She smiled at him gently. “I know what it’s like to love someone out of reach. There’s no reason you should be miserable as well.” That said, she schooled her face into a commanding expression and strode out of the office, leaving him alone. 

Julian’s heartbeat sped up once more, nervousness flooding his body. He had no idea what he would say. All he knew is that he _should_ say something, even if it required pushing past his discomfort and fears. Garak knew Julian wasn’t the most socially graceful of creatures, and he hoped any ramblings would be forgiven. 

“Computer...establish a subspace call to Cardassia Prime. Elim Garak’s office.”

 _“Visual or audio only?”_ The computer chirped.

“Visual.” Julian said firmly, trying not to fidget. 

_“Connection established.”_

Julian wiped his moist palms on his trousers.

When a Cardassian face showed up on his screen, he startled. Why was someone else answering Garak’s calls? The young man looked at him like Julian was wasting his time.

“State the purpose of your call, Mr…”

“I-uh- I intended to reach Garak-”

“Name.” The man cut him off, all but rolling his eyes at him.

“Julian Bashir.” He said, appalled by the man’s rudeness. Did Garak have a _secretary_? 

“Purpose for this call?”

“Personal!” Julian said, irritated. “Just tell Garak it’s me on the line, he’ll take the call.”

“He is in an important meeting and is not to be disturbed.”

Julian huffed, exasperated. “Fine, can I record a message for him?”

“It shall be forwarded to his inbox. I cannot guarantee he will find the time for something so...trivial.”

Julian fumed. If he’d read the secretary’s expression correctly, the man had no intention of forwarding his message at all. And Julian was damned if he would allow this _weasel_ to sabotage his future.

“Listen to me, you self-important little paper-pusher, I have known Garak _far_ longer than you, and I certainly know what he’s capable of doing to you if you misplace my message-”

The screen flickered, the secretary’s affronted face replaced by Garak’s.

“Hurling abuse at my employees? How uncharacteristic of you, my dear.”

“He was being monumentally rude!” Julian complained. 

“He was simply doing his job.” Garak said, calm as you please.

Julian stared at Garak’s face, and failed to contain himself. This was the face as familiar to him as his own; beloved and much missed.

“I see it’s finally happened.”

Julian blurted out - “How-?”

Garak smiled at him in his usual maddening manner. “You didn’t even bother changing out of your clothes upon your return, Doctor.”

Julian stared down at the outfit he’d procured in the past and chuckled. Garak was right. 

“I wanted to speak to you before I lost my nerve… Initially, I’d intended to write you a letter, but...you must’ve waited for so long to have this conversation…”

“And I’m afraid I’ll have to keep waiting a little bit longer. I _do_ have an important meeting that I'm late to.”

So, the weasel hadn’t lied to him about that, at least. 

“I want to see you in person, Garak. Having this conversation over subspace seems…”

“I know exactly what you mean, _Subatoi_.” Garak said with a smirk.

Julian shook his head, amused. “How long have you been waiting to say that?”

Garak ignored the question.

“I have some business on Deep Space Nine… a week from now. I will see you then, Doctor.”

“Goodbye-” The link was terminated before Julian had the chance to finish. 

“Elim.” Julian said softly, tasting the name.

It was sweet.


	22. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian and Garak reunite.

Julian spent the next week as a nervous wreck, overthinking what he’d wear and what he’d say, running himself ragged to the point where Nerys lost the last shreds of her patience for his plight and dragged him back to his quarters where she proceeded to toss every last article of clothing out of his closet and onto the bed to pick something out for him. 

“There, Julian. These brown slacks and...that forest-green shirt. Now put that on and grab some terran flowers or whatever it is you gift on first dates and get out of my sight.”

“Do you… plan on staying here while I get dressed?” Julian asked incredulously.

Nerys rolled her eyes and turned around. “Yes, Julian. I’ll stay to make sure you don’t take forever. Garak’s due to arrive in half an hour and  _ you  _ are still not ready.”

Julian chuckled, following her instructions. He never would have imagined Nerys giving him any sort of romantic advice, especially if Garak was involved. 

Once he was dressed, he took a deep breath. “Ok, you can turn around now. What do you think?”

She swiveled around to take a look at him. “Looks great - now hurry up!”

Julian rushed to his replicator and asked for a single red rose. He knew it was kind of overdone and soppy, but it was still a universally recognizable romantic gesture among humans. He would have chosen a Cardassian flower if he dared, except he couldn’t be sure of the symbolism, and he didn’t want to risk offending Garak by bringing him a plant associated with funerals or whatnot. A rose was perhaps an uninspired choice, but it was also safe. 

“Good, can we go now? I left the repair team without instructions because I had to rescue you, get moving!”

Julian was half-way to the door when he stopped and ran to his night-stand, where an almost empty box of Delavian chocolates rested. He snatched it up and stuffed it in his pocket. Nerys was looking at him crossly, so he hurried out the door.

“I didn’t even get to look at myself in the mirror, Nerys, let me just-”

“NO.” She said firmly, pulling him by the wrist. “You look fine.”

Julian trailed after her, feeling a bit foolish for being dragged like an errant child. They must look absolutely ridiculous, him flailing after her, trying to keep the rose intact, and Nerys pulling him along like she was about to throw him in the brig. As they passed through the crowded Promenade, Julian tried to catch glimpses of himself in nearby reflective surfaces - map displays, shop windows, but all he could see were his wide and terrified eyes. He didn’t look like someone going on a date, but like an accused officer facing a court martial. 

“This is where his ship is docking. I’ve got to go.”

Desperate, Julian tugged her sleeve as she was about to leave. “You’re not going to leave me here alone, are you?”

Nerys laughed in his face. “You’re a grown man, Julian - you don’t need a chaperone!”

“Right.” He said, apprehension bubbling up in his gut. Nerys clapped him on the shoulder as a final show of support, then left.

“You can do this, Julian.” He murmured to himself, feeling like he was losing what little confidence he had left. 

It wouldn’t be so bad, would it? Garak had bantered with him a week ago, over the comm. Their relationship, such as it was, seemed undamaged. All he had to do was get his thoughts in some semblance of order and present his case as eloquently as possible. Most conversations with Garak had a tendency to feel a bit like a tug of war - one had to be careful not to get swept up in Garak’s expertly crafted turns of phrase, but Julian hoped they wanted the same things, and could reach a mutually satisfying understanding. 

Gosh, Julian was thinking of this as negotiations. Well, maybe it was. Possibly the most important one he’d ever have to face. 

The airlock’s subtle hiss brought him out of his musings - it was finally happening. His heart fluttered in his chest and he hastily stuck his hand behind his back in an attempt to hide the rose. He thought he’d grown out of his terminal awkwardness when it came to romantic overtures, but it seemed like the presence of genuine feelings could still cause him to behave like an absolute nervous wreck. 

He tried to paste on a smile, but he was pretty sure he looked scared out of his wits instead. When the airlock slid open, he stared at the end of the docking corridor and waited, shifting from foot to foot, trying to curb his fidgeting tendencies. 

He could feel his heart in his throat as the doors on the opposite side of the corridor churned open, revealing several figures. He craned his neck, trying to catch sight of the only person he cared about seeing right now. 

The moment he saw Garak - talking to another Cardassian, looking so relaxed, Julian’s mouth went dry. He stared at what he assumed was a humorous exchange and wanted to call out to Garak, but the sound died in his throat. 

Garak was wearing a deep purple ensemble, interspersed in places with elegant beige piping, hair longer than he’d seen on him in all the time he’d known him. Julian stared transfixed at the smooth gestures of Garak’s hands and longed to touch them - press palms, entwine fingers, grasp tightly and drop tiny kisses on the fingernails and knuckles. 

It was hopeless. He was going to embarrass himself so thoroughly. Garak would take one look at him and laugh.

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, Garak shifted minutely, catching his gaze.

Julian stood there with his mouth slightly agape, trying not to hyperventilate. Garak had honed in on him, with a triumphant little grin, blue eyes glittering with amusement. Julian thought it was a holonovel cliché, the  _ forgetting-that-the-world-no-longer-existed-save-for-the-person-you-are-looking-at _ trope, but it was currently happening to him. He couldn’t look away, couldn’t focus on anything at the periphery of his vision, it was all a nondescript blur. 

Garak dismissed the person he’d been speaking to, and walked up to Julian. The rest of the crowd dispersed in directions unknown as he looked at Garak, pulse way too quick for him to hide how affected he was.

“Nice to see you again,  _ Doctor _ .” Garak all but purred and Julian felt like he was rendered just as stupid as he’d been at twenty-seven, when they first met. Well, technically-

“Are you not even going to greet me?” Garak went on, clearly relishing his superior position. 

Julian wondered which variation of greeting that should be when Garak offered his open palm. He breathed out a shaky sigh of relief and pressed his mildly sweaty palm against Garak’s bone-dry hand. All he could think about was whether he should feel self-conscious about that too, when Garak reached out with his other hand and placed it on Julian’s neck. It made him shiver and very nearly moan as he leaned into the warm touch.

“I find it fascinating that you could only be commanding when I was half your age…” Garak teased. “The moment I show up looking like this, you revert back into the nervous young man I met at the Replimat.”

“I missed you…” Julian half-croaked, appalled at how un-smooth he was. 

“In the past, what, a week?” Garak quipped, but Julian turned serious.

“I missed this version of you. The one I-uhm… Perhaps we could continue this conversation somewhere more private?” The moment the words left his mouth, he cursed himself for the implication that he was somehow ashamed of being seen in Garak’s company. Desperate not to be misunderstood, he blurted out - “Garak, I don’t-”

“Julian, breathe. I’m not going anywhere.”

Julian knew he’d gotten too worked up, but it was hard to shake off his anxiety once it took root. 

“Do I get to find out what you’re holding behind your back, or have you managed to cause yourself injury while waiting for me?”

Julian chuckled, comforted by the familiar pattern of banter they were so prone to. “Yes, I brought you a gift.”

“How thoughtful!” Garak said, delighted in his typical flamboyant manner, though Julian suspected it was genuine. This time. Their hands fell away, and Julian brought out the flower he’d been concealing. 

“I know it’s not much, and it’s replicated, I’m afraid, but it’s a token of my...feelings for you.”

“A red rose, Doctor?” Garak inquired, taking the flower by the stem. 

“Ah, yes. It symbolizes…” Did he really deserve to be in a relationship with Garak if he couldn’t even make himself say the words? It was beyond pathetic. 

He observed Garak taking in the fragrance, and felt utterly disarmed by the tiny, genuine smile he found on his appreciative features. With his ridged nose buried in the petals, Garak looked adorable.

“I’m assuming different colors carry differing connotations? I’ve noticed it’s a theme in terran literature.” Garak inquired, savoring the texture of the petals with his fingertips.

“Ah, yes. I’m not actually sure about the other colors, but this one is meant to represent...romantic love.”

“Is it now?” Garak murmured, looking him square in the eye. 

“Don’t torture me, Garak, this is awkward as it is.” Julian whined, feeling like an idiot. 

“Thank you, my dear.” Garak said mildly. “It’s lovely.”

Julian couldn’t help the small hopeful smile. Nor the flush of heat to his cheeks at being addressed as something dear to Garak. 

“I must admit, a part of me was hoping for some Delavian chocolates…”

Julian flushed harder, remembering what use they put them to last time. 

“I do blame you, you know?” Garak continued, “I never could eat those without remembering the  _ taste _ of you.”

Julian choked on his words.

“Yes, even when you innocently returned my gift - remember?”

“Garak!” Julian stifled his cry midway, “we’re in the middle of a corridor!”

“Perhaps we should head somewhere more private after all?” Garak insinuated, making Julian huff out a laugh. 

“You’re incorrigible.”

“And  _ you _ ,” Garak said fondly, “are finally smiling.”

Julian averted his gaze, baffled at his sudden shyness.

“I’m sorry, Garak… I guess I’m kind of nervous.”

“Let’s go someplace more quiet, Julian.”

Julian looked at Garak, grateful for the support. “I guess Quark’s is out, then?”

“Your quarters will suffice.”

“I can vouch that they are significantly more comfortable than the last ones I entertained you in.” Julian quipped.

“Oh? I won’t have to fix your shower this time around?” Garak needled him. 

“Nope, this one is fully functional!” Julian laughed. “Oh God.” 

Garak merely looked at him quizzically. 

“I didn’t clean the bedding before I went to work.”

Garak’s eyeridges shot up.

Julian felt mortified.

“In the past, I went to work and got sent back to the future before I had a chance to return to my quarters! Whoever inherited them-” His face was burning.

“They inherited a functional shower at least.” Garak deadpanned and Julian burst out laughing. 

As they continued their trek to Julian’s quarters, he realized he felt better. As always, Garak could capture his attention until even his nervousness melted away. 

“So, what brings you to the station? You mentioned something about business?” Julian asked.

“Oh, a small matter of returning some... _ ill-gained _ Bajoran artifacts back to their rightful government.”

Julian goggled. “That’s no small matter!”

“My motives are nothing so altruistic, dear Doctor, as we have been presented with an ancient object of Hebitian origin in return.”

“That’s still good, isn’t it? Exchanging items of historical value… I’m sure that might work towards improving relations between Cardassia and Bajor!” Julian exclaimed enthusiastically.

“Among other things.” Garak spoke mildly, fixing Julian with a warm look.

“Well, if anyone can improve things in this regard, it’s you, Garak. I’m sure you picked up a thing or two about diplomacy in your extensive tenure as an exclusive tailor to Federation diplomats and officers…”

Garak gave him a wide-lipped smile that promised mischief and Julian wanted to reach out and touch it, run his fingertips along the seam until-

No. Important conversation first. 

As he walked side by side with Garak, Julian realized that the looks they were getting from the predominantly Bajoran population of the station didn’t seem as edged in hostility as he remembered. When two women, a Starfleet engineer and Bajoran militia passed by them, the human one told her friend: “Aww, that’s so sweet! Have you seen-”

Julian lost the rest of the conversation in the crowd, but it didn’t matter. Garak was walking to his right, carrying his rose delicately, and Julian wished nothing more than to hold hands with him. Would it be strange to request it? Cardassians didn’t seem to hold hands, not for an extended period of time. Aside from their intimate greeting of palm presses reserved for friends or family, Julian was pretty sure they didn’t use this human gesture. He looked up at Garak and flushed when their eyes met. Despite the inconvenient resurfacing of his embarrassment, he held Garak’s gaze, relying on his peripheral vision not to walk into anything (or anyone).

When they entered a turbo-lift heading for the habitat ring, Julian realized they were finally alone. He wasn’t  _ ashamed _ of discussing this in public, he simply preferred to broach such topics in private, with no interruptions.

“I feel strange calling you ‘Garak’.” Julian confessed. “I mean, when it’s just us two.”

“Are you asking for permission?” Garak inquired, his lips quirked. 

“Yeah, I guess I am.” 

“You’ve had it for a long time, Julian.” Garak’s voice softened marginally.

Julian wasn’t sure whether it was as far back as Tain’s dying confession, or even earlier, when Garak had spoken truth shrouded in lies as he was dying from the implant. 

“May I...hold your hand-” Julian asked haltingly, “Elim?”

“I like you brash, my dear.” Garak commented, leaning closer. “Though it would seem that in my presence, you are transformed into a demure creature. How very... _ human _ of you.”

The words may have been teasing, but the fingers that entwined with Julian’s were warm and sure. 

“You wouldn’t have me any other way, I’m sure.” 

Garak’s eyes sparked as he leaned in further, nipping Julian’s neck lightly. A cascade of shivers bounced down his spine. The words against his ears were a wicked promise.

“Oh, I am planning on having you in _many_ ways, Julian…”

Julian bit his lip to stifle any unfortunate vocalizations. 

When the lift came to a halt, Julian ducked his head while stepping out into the corridor, cursing Garak for being entirely too persuasive in just about every area he decided to dabble in. The Cardassian’s chuckles followed closely behind. 

“You could have waited until we got to my quarters, Garak.” Julian chided him with a half-hearted grumble. 

“And miss out on all the fascinating shades creeping across your beautiful skin? I think not, Doctor.”

Julian groaned, lengthening his stride and trying to ignore the discomfort developing in his trousers. 

“I believe you have grown even easier to seduce with time, dear.” Garak muttered near Julian’s ear, the gesture nonchalant to the outside observer, yet brutally calculated as far as Julian’s composure was concerned.

“You’ve grown more adept at tormenting me in public.” Julian sniped back.

“Oh, trust me,  _ Doctor _ , I’d much prefer to torment you  _ in private _ .”

Two more corridors. Just two more. Julian felt like sprinting there, but decided against it. Garak would never let him live that down. Would they even make it to his quarters? Julian was more than a little bit tempted to pull Garak aside and snog him in full view of any unfortunate passers-by. 

When they reached his quarters and Julian jabbed at the pad next to it to enter, he fully expected to be assaulted - pulled into the room and pinned against the door until he was left panting for breath and pleading for mercy. 

Garak, the evil mastermind that he was, did no such thing, opting instead to make himself comfortable on Julian’s couch, laying the rose gently on the low coffee table resting in front of it.

So, this was the torment Garak had envisioned for him today. Close enough to touch, yet waiting for a confession before moving so much as a finger. Julian was certain that, in Garak’s case, a finger would be more than enough.

As the doors’ locking mechanism hissed shut, Julian found himself wringing his hands, unsure how close he should be sitting to Garak. If he sat too close, they’d never get around to actually speaking, but if he sat too far, he’d be too busy yearning for Elim’s presence. Two to three feet distance seemed alright.  Steeling himself, Julian sat down and took a deep breath. Garak was looking his way, but seemed perfectly content with silence. Julian got the distinct impression that he was supposed to buckle first. 

“Not that I had much time to investigate, and for you, this must be ancient history, but I’m curious - what  _ was _ your mission, back on Zek 15? And don’t sell me some bull story about being a  _ plain and simple _ mechanic.”

“No, such unrefined lies wouldn’t work on you any more, I’ve taught you too well.”

“No reason to look so smug, Garak.”

“Oh? Back to my last name so soon?” Garak said mock-plaintively.

“When you’re talking to me like I’m inferior, yes.” Julian said crossly. They’d get nowhere if they kept talking around in circles.

Garak’s smugness melted away, leaving a serious expression in its place. “I have never, not for a moment, considered you inferior.”

Julian wasn’t sure he believed it.

“Do you think I would have invested quite so much of my time into mentoring someone who didn’t merit it?” When Julian said nothing, Garak continued. “I have always known your potential.”

“Because you met me in the past! Not because of anything I did to demonstrate it!”

“That’s what bothers you, Doctor? That I merely...followed your instructions?”

Julian’s insides clenched in anguish. 

“That was what you said - to invite you for lunch, discuss literature, politics, philosophy...I did as you requested.” 

He did, didn’t he? 

“I used the crumbs you scattered on my table to follow you.”

For some undefinable reason, Julian felt upset. “To make me into… what? A man worth waiting for?”

Garak huffed bitterly, leaning fully into the couch. It was a posture Julian was unfamiliar with - neither the swaggering cockiness of Garak’s youth, nor the erect stiffness of his middle age. Something unfamiliar and new. 

“To make myself into the kind of man you would want to look upon one day with love in your eyes.”

Julian expelled a breath.

“The way you looked at my younger self, who was - I assure you - not worthy of it. He didn’t even realize what it was. He just took from you, anything you seemed ready to give, with no thought as to  _ why _ .”

“No, Garak, that’s not-”

Garak forestalled him with a gesture of his hand. 

“I’m sure you’ll tell me you were generous because you believed in my eventual change of heart, or  _ personal growth _ -”

“I did it because I  _ projected _ , Garak! I loved you, but I was too much of a coward to actually tell you, so when I got the chance to see you without quite so many walls around you, I…” Julian halted, realizing the words were out - words he spent an entire week agonizing over to craft beautifully, just tumbling out in a complete mess, in an entirely unsuitable context. 

“I didn’t know what it was, Julian.” Garak said quietly. “It took me years of seeing that look on your face, directed at many of your  _ flings _ , to realize what it had been. What it  _ might _ be, one day - if I played my cards right, as you humans would say.”

Julian couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

“At first, I thought you were his son.” Garak murmured, subdued in his confession. “You looked so much alike. The time frame fit, you were twenty-seven, and I believed Subatoi had given up on this man he’d once loved and found the companionship he craved in some human woman. But then I researched your family, and imagine my surprise when I realized that your father was named Richard Bashir, and that he looked  _ nothing _ like you. I approached you, intrigued by the mystery. Were you adopted? Was Subatoi your biological father after all? You had his name as part of yours, so I assumed as much. I didn’t realize human middle names were merely a part of their first, and as such, no indicator of who their progenitor might have been.”

Julian sat there, frozen, taking in the unvarnished truth. Coming from Garak, it felt almost...blasphemous.

“It took me some time to accept that the man I was getting to know...would one day become the person who would set the impossible standard for everyone else.”

Impossible standard? For what?

Garak’s piercing blue stare pinned him into place. “Unconsciously, I searched for someone who could compare to a chance encounter I had in my youth. Ironically enough, I never left myself open to such encounters in the future, as it was too much of a risk. I certainly tried with Palandine, but it wasn’t the same. Even when joined with her, she had her reservations, and I clung to mine. You, dear Doctor, ruined me for everyone else, quite without meaning to.”

Julian stared at Garak, dread rising from his gut. 

“There’s no reason to look so despondent, Julian.” Garak chuckled. “Unless you’ve managed to change your mind in the span of a week?”

“Changed my mind? About what?” 

Garak reached for the table and picked up the rose. 

“About this.”

“How could I’ve changed my mind when I just realized what I want?” Julian said incredulously.

Garak fiddled with the flower, trailing a finger over the blunted thorns. The replicator always smoothed out any sharp edges, keeping in mind user comfort. It occurred to Julian that it was a very Federation approach to things - embellishing the ugly, polishing the crude, until everything was within acceptable parameters. It struck him then that he’d done the same thing to Garak, insisting that his way of doing things was immoral, brutal and wrong. 

“I should have bought you a real rose,” Julian murmured. “With real thorns.”

“That anxious to have me as your patient again?” Garak jested. 

“I was...not the best of friends to you.” Julian said heavily. “I took you for granted, and I let you slip away, only looking back when you reminded me that life went on, that you and Kelas...were rebuilding Cardassia together.”

Garak placed the rose in his lap and merely listened.

“I got your memoir, and instead of being grateful to have earned your trust, or as much of it as you are capable of giving me, I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t brave enough to share my innermost self - to give you a similar account in return. To tell you how scared I was at Adigeon Prime, during the treatments. How painful and confusing it was. How I’ve suppressed it to the point where the only thing I can clearly remember is missing Kukalaka.”

Julian preferred some of his memories to stay in neatly separate boxes. It was easier that way.

“I guess what I’m trying to say, even though it’s probably coming out all wrong, is that I wasn’t...ready. You were not someone I could casually walk up to and proposition - you mattered more to me. And yet...I didn’t think about what the distance would do to us. I thought I could remain your friend, and that nothing would change.”

And he’d been so very wrong about that. All those augmented genes, and he could still be so  _ catastrophically _ wrong about certain things.

“I got complacent and then realized I felt alone. Everyone but me had moved on, moved out. The officer complement here changes every six months, and even if I wanted to make friends, they all...leave. Because they have things to  _ move towards _ . Or back  _ to _ , like you.”

Garak sat there, the very epitome of patience. 

“And I...I never had a home.” Julian frowned, trying to ignore the burning sensation in his eyes. “My parents moved too often for me to form any sort of long-lasting attachment to a place, and living with them didn’t give me a sense of home, either. That instinctual place of comfort that people think of, that  _ everyone _ seems to know - I never experienced. Not until Deep Space Nine. I found a family among my colleagues and friends. But as soon as they were gone...my sense of family...my sense of  _ home _ ...just vanished.”

Julian wiped at his eyes preemptively. 

“Nerys and I are closer now, but it can’t replace my friendship with Miles, or Jadzia. I still enjoy hearing from Ezri, but it’s not the same. It will never be the same again. And I can make peace with that, because they are all happier where they are - teaching, commanding, raising a family. It’s only me that’s lost in the past.”

Garak remained silent, but he extended his hand to Julian, who took it gratefully, squeezing soothingly warm fingers. 

“I didn’t know what I wanted until I met you in the past and realized...that I didn’t want to spend my future without you. I know you’re in a relationship, but...I just wanted to tell you how I felt.”

“Ah.” Garak said, satisfaction creeping back into his smile. “My  _ relationship  _ with Kelas.”

Julian felt wretched. “I didn’t want to...intrude. I know you’ll probably tell me you’re no longer interested-”

“Julian.” Garak interrupted him. “I certainly have a great working relationship with Kelas, but that is all. He is a fine advisor and ally, and that is the extent of it. Any rumors of our romantic involvement have been... _ greatly _ exaggerated.”

“But-” Julian blurted, “what about your letter? You insinuated...”

“A slight bit of...poetic license, shall we say?” Garak smiled widely.

“You’re such an arse!” Julian huffed, squeezing Garak’s fingers.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Garak said smugly.

“You  _ do  _ have a fine arse…” Julian muttered, making Garak laugh.

“Julian.”

“Yes?”

“I hope you’re planning to make an honest man out of me.” Garak said wryly, looking at him with meaning. 

“Oh?” Julian couldn’t resist, “I thought we were going for more realistic goals?”

“Julian Bashir, backing down from a challenge? Surely not!” Garak said theatrically, his face wonderfully animated. 

Julian stared into Garak’s lovely blue eyes and felt...right. 

“I love you, Elim.” He said earnestly, placing his other hand gently on top of Garak’s. 

“I know, my dear.” Garak said warmly, eyes free of worry and doubt.

“I don’t want a long-distance relationship.” Julian said honestly. “I know you would never stop working for the benefit of Cardassia, so I would never ask you to leave Prime and come wherever it is I am stationed.”

“I cannot guarantee I will always be posted on Prime, either.” Garak remarked. “There’s been talk of using my - as you so eloquently put it -  _ skills  _ acquired while tailoring for various Federation diplomats.”

“Where would they send you?”

“It hasn’t been decided yet. It might be Earth, or even Bajor. Then again, they might decide to send someone younger and possibly less... _ controversial _ .” That last word seemed to amuse him. 

“I’d be willing to go with you.” Julian said softly, caressing Garak’s hand in tiny, circular motions.

“You might still end up moving from place to place. Are you sure that this is what you want?”

Julian took a deep breath.  “Yes. I want to at least  _ try _ .”

“Wherever I am sent, there might not be a post sanctioned by Starfleet for you.” Garak warned him.

Julian was well aware of that. “Most places still need a good doctor…”

For a long moment, neither spoke. Garak reached out with his left hand and placed it gently on Julian’s neck.

“That they do.”

Garak understood him perfectly. With others, he was often put into a position where he had to defend himself, and while it had taught him many things, it had also left him feeling like he was fundamentally unlikeable, not unless he adapted to present company. With Garak, he could be his slightly-awkward, hyper-fixated self, and not get shot down. Julian swore never to take that for granted again. 

“Did you find out who stole that hypospray, Doctor?” 

Julian gave an incredulous laugh. 

“It’s been a bit of a mystery for me, you understand. I wouldn’t mind finally putting it out of my mind.” Garak said superciliously.

“You do realize I suspected you, don’t you?” Julian shook his head in disbelief.

“I appreciate your faith in my abilities, my dear, but I assure you, that particular piece of mischief was not my doing.”

“I’m guessing it had something to do with your missing second-in-command?”

“I could never verify it,” Garak went on, “but I suspected as much. He was there to meet his contact, but whoever it was got spooked and changed the meeting place. I had to improvise, and after a long chain of unfortunate events, I transported into a moving turbo-lift only to find him lying dead in a large pool of his own blood. I never managed to figure out who he was meeting.”

Well, that was rather grisly… Julian wondered whether he should share his suspicions. 

“I was pulled from the assignment and the rest was handled by someone else.”

“Did they find his killer? The Order, I mean. Or whoever it is that investigates murder of Cardassian citizens.” Julian wondered.

“No. They never investigated it. They felt if they started digging, his contact would disappear altogether, and they were quite hoping to apprehend them.”

“What was Jetar even suspected of?” 

“Oh, he was quite guilty, I assure you.”

Julian rolled his eyes. “Sure, but guilty of  _ what _ ?”

“Ferrying Bajorans out of the occupied sector.”

“The Cardassian government...was  _ chasing _ refugees?” Julian gasped in outrage.

Garak gave him a pointed look.

“The ones they were chasing were Cardassians taking money to transport Bajorans across the borders.”

“That’s...not much better, is it?”

Garak sighed. 

“This is one of the burdens I talked to you about. I cannot carry it on my shoulders. Some things, reprehensible or not, were not within my purview.”

Julian nodded. “I know, Elim. I’m sorry.”

“I am finally in a position where I can implement changes.” Garak’s expression was serious.

Julian had the feeling that Cardassia would blossom under Garak’s watchful eye, guided by a gardener’s hand. Like a good tailor, he would cut away any excesses, and put together something beautiful and functional.

“I’m here to support you.” Julian promised. “Anything you need.” 

Garak’s soft smile grew more mischievous. He picked the rose out of his lap and placed it carefully on the table. When he turned his attention back to Julian, there was a palpable tension in the air. 

“Are you sure you don’t have a box of Delavian chocolates lying around here somewhere?”

Julian laughter was bright and effusive. 

“I have some thirty-seven year old chocolates in my pocket, if you’d like… They made the trip with me, so they should still be good!”

Garak looked at him like he would rather eat something else. 

“Tell me, my dear...are you still interested in tasting my thorn?”

Julian breathed out in a rush, then all but jumped to his feet, pulling Garak along with him. With a laugh, they came together, tangling, holding - a meeting of skin and spirit. Julian gasped into the kiss, and didn’t protest when Garak decided to torment the sensitive skin of his neck, biting gently at first, and then increasing the pressure. 

Completely inelegantly, they managed to traverse the sitting room and reach Julian's bedroom.

“Julian, dear...what kind of sartorial catastrophe have I walked in on?” Garak huffed into his neck, pointing out at the colorful mound of clothing left on Julian's bed. 

Julian barked out a laugh. “I guess there’s only one thing we can do now - add our own to the pile!” 

With that, he pulled Garak into a kiss.


	23. Last Piece of the Puzzle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kai Nilan talks to Julian and Garak. The last piece of the puzzle slides into place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to the fabulous DHW who helped me figure out how to tie everything together!

Once they finally emerged from Julian’s quarters, they headed to the Replimat for a late lunch, Julian glowing like a Christmas tree, and Elim carrying himself with less stiffness than usual. It was beautiful to see. Julian stared at Garak’s face, unable to stop _appreciating_. 

“Are you growing out your hair?” Julian inquired, gratified by Garak’s indulgent expression.

“I suppose I have no choice now, with the way you react to it.” The remark was poignant, but Julian knew it was meant affectionately.

At this hour, the Replimat was slightly less crowded, so they managed to procure their meals fairly quickly and sat at the nearest empty table. They were both famished, but Julian kept getting distracted from his meal by watching Elim. 

“You know, you needn’t have taken my remark about ‘rushing through everything’ seriously.”

Garak didn’t bother trying to conceal his amusement. “Fascinating, my dear. You seem to be living under the misapprehension that I take my time with my meals due to your remark?”

“Don’t you?” 

The look he got in return was a touch exasperated. 

“What reason could I _possibly_ have to take my time eating in your company?”

“Oh.” Julian said eloquently. 

“Indeed. I do suggest we don’t tarry overlong this time, though.”

“Yes, of course.” Julian agreed. “You have the symbolic hand-over ceremony in a few hours. You still haven’t told me what object Cardassia will be receiving.”

“An ancient Hebitian recitation mask made of jevonite.”

Julian halted, fork mid-way to his mouth. “That’s...that sounds like an extremely precious object!”

“It is to the followers of the Oralian Way. To the rest of our population, it is merely an ancient object of great beauty. I am fairly certain they will wish to make a prized exhibit of it in our central museum which is currently undergoing reconstruction.”

“That’s wonderful! I’m glad Cardassia will get a small part of its cultural identity back. I just hope artifacts such as these don’t get sold again.”

Julian lamented the fact that the previous Cardassian government felt no recourse but to sell off their heritage to fund their war efforts. They could have invested in ways to improve self-sustainability instead.

“Hopefully not.” Garak agreed easily, and Julian felt slightly guilty for voicing the sentiment, when he knew it was not exactly up to Elim whether that would happen or not. 

Julian tucked back into his meal and slowed down, savoring the flavors. Prolonging the time spent in good company…he vowed to practice that in the future.

The whispers and exclamations rose all around them, and Julian turned around to see several Bajorans rising out of their seats to flock around the entrance to the Replimat. Not many things could elicit such a delighted reaction, but as a simply-dressed, white haired woman peeked out from the crowd, Julian concluded that, yes - the Kai definitely merited such reception. 

“It seems the esteemed Kai has decided to mingle with the average man.” Garak observed with a quirk to his lip.

“She’s very down to earth,” Julian mentioned after he swallowed another mouthful. “Doesn’t like all the pomp.”

“That _is_ rather apparent from her manner of dress.”

“I do wonder why she’s here,” Julian craned his neck to see, but she still seemed swamped by her congregation.

Garak said nothing, putting his eating utensils neatly down across his plate.

“You can’t be finished already.” Julian mused, “not after all the grumbling I had to endure about lack of sustenance back in my quarters.”

“Breakfast in bed is considerably more appealing a concept when one doesn’t have to endure crumbs in the sheets.” Garak groused.

Julian laughed. “All right, I admit - croissants may have not been the best choice of pastry. At least you liked the bitter orange marmalade!”

“I reiterate, my dear - not on the sheets.”

Julian chuckled heartily, response ready on his lips when Garak got up unexpectedly. 

“No need to interrupt your meal on my account, Representative Garak.”

Julian swallowed precipitously, scrambling to put his fork down and greet the Kai.

“Your Eminence,” Garak said affably, “how good to see you in person.”

The old lady chuckled in delight. “Contrary to a fault, aren’t you?”

Julian rose to his feet and cleared his throat. “Kai Nilan, to what do we owe the pleasure?”

She smiled wide, taking them both in. “I am pleased for you youngsters.”

Garak suppressed a snort. Julian sent him a mild glare of reprimand.

“Is this what you wanted when you offered me the Orb experience?” Julian voiced his curiosity.

“Wanted is an imprecise word, Doctor Bashir. ‘Hoped’ would be more accurate.”

“I still don’t understand your motivation.” Julian admitted.

She made a pleased noise. “In that case, I have something to show you.” She rummaged through a pocket in her simple robes, pulling out a holo-image, handing it over to Julian.

He held the image, staring curiously at a large Bajoran family that spanned three generations, a cluster of smiling children in the front, hugging in a big unruly pile.

“My many nieces and nephews.” The Kai said proudly. “See this charming toothless boy in the front?” 

Julian nodded. 

“He was named after his grandfather.” When Julian still didn’t understand, the Kai went on. “Nevot Darein.”

Julian goggled and gaped at the picture. In the farthest row, stood a very old man that Julian could only now recognize as the same person he’d met in the past. 

“He doesn’t still want to kill me, does he?” Julian asked nervously, noting how many strong sons the man seemed to have, standing there proudly next to their spouses. 

“Haha, no. He had given up his pursuit of the _nefarious_ Federation agent over a decade ago.” Nilan exclaimed, visibly pleased. “He’d never managed to find anything about _Subatoi_. He had given up on searching for the man’s only known alias and resigned himself to never knowing.”

“And focused on worthier pursuits, I see.” Julian remarked, looking at the colorful family portrait.

It didn’t change the fact that Darein had murdered someone in his past, but...people could change, fill the world with good to atone for their past misdeeds. 

“Doctor, I am _shocked_.” Garak said in his usual flair. “You had omitted this part of your adventure from your account yesterday.”

Any reproach Julian could see must have been feigned for the benefit of their audience. 

“I didn’t think it mattered. I didn’t even know the man was still alive. You can’t tell me you actually mean to get him arrested _now_ , after all this time?”

Garak looked at the Kai, as if assessing his options. When he finally spoke, it was measured to come across as reasonable and even friendly. “Why would I? There is no proof of any crime, besides, Jetar is known to have defected, taking his ill-gotten profits with him. He has disappeared _into the woodwork_ , as you say. I am sure this ‘Nevot Darein’ is a perfectly upstanding citizen.”

The Kai started giggling and took the holo-image out of Julian’s unresponsive hands, stashing it back into her deep pockets. Once her mirth subsided, she turned to Garak.

“Are you an adherent of the Oralian Way?”

Julian got the rare treat of witnessing genuine surprise on Garak’s features.

“I-am sad to say I am not... My father was, though. I do attend recitations when time permits.”

“I fell in love with the clearest voice in the room when I was young.” The Kai said in a dreamy voice. “The singing - the harmony of many disparate parts, coming together...it was transcendent. Bajoran faith centers more around silent contemplation and prayer, but the Oralian rites remain the most beautiful experience of my youth.”

Garak’s face was unguarded, Julian realized. All pretense had fled. Julian could tell that the Kai had Elim’s undivided attention. It must be so strange for Elim, hearing about the faith of his ancestors from a Bajoran. Julian realized Garak had claimed Tolan as his father to the Kai, upholding the lie he was raised to believe in. Mila’s elder brother, Tolan Garak, had masqueraded as Elim’s father, providing an air of legitimacy and obscuring the fact that Tain had sired a bastard. He’d sacrificed to spare his sister the shame. And Garak, who spent all of his adult life trying to please Tain and earn his approval, was now accepting the fact that the man who’d raised him deserved more credit than Enabran Tain ever did. 

“I was given the mask for safe-keeping before the Cardassian military raided one of the Oralian enclaves on Bajor.” Kai Nilan’s face turned grave and sad, the full weight of her life’s experiences reflecting on her weathered face. “I regret not being able to save any of them.”

Garak’s voice was affected and honest. “I am certain the mask remembers their words, and is safeguarding their breaths.”

Nilan’s smile was soft despite the pain she failed to hide. “After the hand-over ceremony...once you’re alone...put it on.”

Garak halted, hesitation evident in his posture. “I’m not sure that would be appropriate.”

She reached her worn hands towards him and cupped his face. 

“Forgiveness begins on the inside, Elim Garak.”

Garak’s entire expression wavered, flickering before Julian’s eyes. Whatever internal struggle Garak was currently having, it spilled over his usual walls, manifesting as trails down his cheeks. No one was more shocked by the occurrence than Garak himself. He jerked, as if to move away, but Nilan’s gentle touch never wavered, holding him in place gently.

“You _deserve_ peace.” The Kai said empathically, and Julian looked around at the speechless crowd surrounding them. You could hear a pin drop. “And you are _deserving_ of the mask as well.”

Garak gasped, then gave into the touch, closing his eyes.

Julian felt on the brink of tears himself. Nobody knew Garak’s inner struggles better - the deep seated conflict between serving the interests of his beloved Cardassia and the feeling that it might be better served if he _rebelled_ against it in a bid to improve it for everyone else. It was a never-ending and all-out war between Garak’s innate idealism and the pragmatism he’d been taught to employ. Julian knew that such disparate ideas were difficult to reconcile. He still remembered Garak’s breakdown during the war, when he’d caught him banging his fists against the airlock, as if begging for respite from his duties. It tore Garak to shreds - working against Cardassia to try and save it. Even now, years after the end of the Dominion war, Garak was struggling to come to terms with it.

“The future you want is in your grasp.” Nilan said to Garak softly, so only the three of them could hear.

When she finally withdrew her hands, Garak half-stumbled, pitching forward as if he’d needed the support to stay upright.

“If you find yourself in need of an officiant for your enjoining ceremony...it would be my pleasure.”

With a parting smile and a soft, lingering look - she departed, leaving behind a very bewildered Replimat crowd. 

Julian rushed to Elim’s side and took him into his arms gently.

“My love…” he whispered softly, rubbing Elim’s back soothingly. “It’s alright, I’m here.”

Garak buried his face in his shoulder and wrapped his arms around Julian’s waist tightly.

“She was right, you know?” Julian reassured Garak, dropping a little kiss to his temple. “I have forgiven you long ago. Perhaps it’s time to forgive yourself, hmm?” 

As he held the man he loved, Julian couldn’t help but take in the Kai’s parting words, coming to terms with the fact he wouldn’t mind such an outcome in the least. For some reason, he could picture her wearing a resplendent recitation mask, as light streamed down on the three of them out in an open field, him and Elim barefoot and holding hands.

“I’d say this was worth waiting for, wouldn’t you?” Julian murmured softly into Elim’s fragrant, long hair. The only response was an endearing little burrow of ridges against his neck.

Julian closed his eyes and enjoyed the light feeling of having Elim pressed up against him. 

“Our lunch is going cold,” Garak whined against his shoulder, making Julian shudder with laughter.

“Let it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it folks! There's a bunch of material left on the cutting room floor (serves me right for trying to write out of order).
> 
> Hope you liked this slightly plot-heavier story, and enjoy the rest of the "Just in Time" Fest!
> 
> If you want to chat, I'm Syaunei on tumblr as well! :)

**Author's Note:**

> There we go! Hope you like the rest! ;P


End file.
